You Owe Me
by I'm a Muppet of a girl
Summary: Clary Fray and Jace Wayland hated each other at first sight. It seems like he lives to make her life miserable. But when Jace is attacked and the police start to suspect Clary of being responsible (despite the fact that she played a part in saving his life), it becomes necessary to find the real culprit, and impossible for them to hate each other any longer.
1. Chapter 1

_Hey guys! Time for another fanfic! The characters are a little OOC at first, but don't worry they'll grow into their personalities. Warning: Jace is a jerk at the beginning. But as the story goes on, he'll get more likable, I promise._

_Le Disclaimer: I do not own TMI or its characters or..or... Anything! _

_Enjoy!_

Have you ever met an extremely attractive person, and felt like the world stopped when your eyes met theirs, and you had this feeling that there had to be something special between the two of you? Like his gorgeous blue eyes or her shiny smile could make you trek to the end of the earth and back?

And then they have to spoil it all by opening their mouth.

You know that feeling? That's exactly how it was when I met Jace Wayland.

It was the first day of ninth grade, and I'll admit, I was shaking with nerves. It would have helped if I weren't in an entirely new school, in an entirely new city. And it might have helped if I knew someone, anyone, too. But no, I showed up to school friendless, feeling small and invisible among the big, scary students of Aerisborn High.

I later learned that being small and invisible in high school can come in handy at times. But on that day, all I wanted was to see a friendly face, even the hint of a smile, but everyone looked right through me like I wasn't even there.

Or maybe I was just too short to be seen. Either way, I wasn't getting a lot of eye contact.

It took me forever to find my homeroom, but luckily the teacher was even later than I was. Everyone was turned in their seats, chatting to friends they'd probably known all their lives. One look showed me that there wasn't a single loner desperate enough for human contact to talk to me. You'd think there'd be at least some people who didn't know everyone else in a place as big as New York City, but evidently that wasn't the case.

I slipped in pretty much unnoticed—until, with my eyes fixed carefully on my feet, I plowed into a desk, banging my hip painfully on the edge. The sound drew a lot of stares, which settled on me and stayed there.

Face burning like an oven, I quickly sat down in the desk I'd just rammed into, keeping my eyes down and hoping that they'd all forget about me soon. Maybe my blindingly red hair transfixed them. I suddenly regretted leaving my favorite baseball cap at home.

The door to the classroom opened again, and the talk among the other kids instantly ceased. I assumed it was the teacher—who else could cut off conversation like that?—and I quickly opened my notebook, my head bent toward my desk, doing my best to look studious. Teachers seem to like that sort of thing.

I saw someone stop in front of my desk out of the corner of my eye. Dreading having to stand up and introduce myself—even though all the ninth graders were technically new to the school, even if they were all best friends—I glanced up under my eyelashes. And did a double take.

It certainly wasn't a teacher standing in front of me.

I usually wasn't one to melt over boys. I liked to study them in a more critical way, noticing symmetry, the features that would set them aside as unique if they were to be drawn. I'd never really been interested in dating; my mom always told me that that would change pretty soon, but I never believed her.

Until that second, of course.

Because the guy standing in front of me was pretty eye-catching.

The best way to describe him would have to be "golden." At least, that's the word that kept repeating itself over and over in my head as I gawked at him. The hair that was styled in a carefully messy fashion was golden, matching his tan complexion. Even his _eyes _were gold—a shade I'd never seen on a human being before. They had to be contacts.

He smiled at me, and my heart rate instantly picked up. I don't know what I expected him to say. _So, what brings a pretty girl like you into town? Haven't seen you around. Tell me your life story. _

Hardly. But one thing's for sure, I did _not _expect him to say what he did. When he opened his mouth, I was certain words as golden as his looks had to come pouring out.

Turns out, I was way off.

"Hey," he said, still smiling. I opened my mouth to stutter out a "hey" back, but before I could, he swept on. "You're sitting in my seat, Gingerbread."

I froze, my mouth still open from my half-formed greeting, and stared at him. Now that I looked closer, he wasn't smiling at me in that friendly "welcome to school!" kind of way. In fact, it was more of a smirk than a smile. He was mocking me.

"S-sorry?" I managed to get out, closing my mouth with a snap as I realized it was hanging open.

He leaned toward me, propping his hands on the desk. He smelled wonderful. His gold eyes were flecked with brown near the center, and his eyelashes were long and dark, the kind of eyelashes every girl envies. My voice totally deserted me as I found myself looking into those eyes.

"Are you deaf as well as stupid?" he said, enunciating each word clearly and carefully. "You're sitting in my seat. Now get out before I kick you back to your pot of gold at the end of the rainbow."

And I'd thought my face had been red before. For a second I just sat there, rigid and shocked, looking at him. There were snickers around the class, and the group of guys that had followed him into the classroom were grinning and elbowing each other, clearly enjoying every last second of this.

"Wow, you really are slow," he said, each word cutting into me like a sharp needle. "_Get. Up." _

I know I could have handled the situation so much better. If I had been the person I am now instead of the shy, quiet, eager-to-avoid-confrontation girl I was then, I would have thrown a punch to his jaw or folded my arms and answered primly, "Make me."

But there was no way I could pull off something that impressive or dignified back then. Oh, no. Instead, I could feel dangerous pressure building in my throat and behind my eyes. And almost before I knew what was happening, there were tears leaking from the corners of my eyes, and my breath was starting to make that little hiccupping noise that is generally associated with small children.

The golden boy's face practically lit up with disbelief and delight. He clearly had not been expecting this strong of a reaction.

I got up and clumsily gathered my stuff, stumbling to the back of the room and trying to ignore the stares that followed me. Some of them were pitying, but most looked at me with scorn and amusement. They'd already decided the kind of person I was based on those few minutes of my life—I was a coward, a baby, easily bullied. A nobody.

I didn't understand how he could hate me so quickly, but the look on his face as he stared at me from the front of the room next to my vacated desk spoke loud and clear. I hadn't said more than one word to the guy, and already he had dubbed me his new victim. It was my own fault for crying, I guess.

And, despite his good looks, despite the fact that my initial reaction to him had been awe and, yeah, attraction, it was surprisingly easy to return the feeling.

As I sat there in the back of the room during one of the most humiliating moments of my young life, dashing tears away with the palm of my hand, I thought bitterly at the boy, _I hate you. _He smirked back at me, as if reading my thoughts and responding, _The feeling's mutual. _

And that was the beginning of my not-so-beautiful relationship with Jace Wayland.

* * *

_Thanks a lot for reading! Please leave a review and tell me what you think! _


	2. Chapter 2

_Thanks so much for reading, guys! And special thanks to Physalie00, vampchick09, kennna97, rcs17, divergentdinosaur, Buffering, , mortalinstrumentsgurl1, Chatterbox143, WeHeartBooks, KittyKatMeow, desperatelyobvious, and guests (hope I got all the names right) for reviewing! Those reviews made my whole week! _

It didn't take long for Jace to climb his way up the social ladder at school. It didn't seem fair to me that a ninth grader could get the respect and admiration of nearly everyone else in the school within a matter of weeks. But he just had a way about him that drew others to him like moths to light—when he flashed that smile or let out that smooth laugh, everyone within a mile radius melted.

Except for me, of course. And the other people he had deemed "loser-worthy."

Jace wasn't an outright bully. He ignored more than he picked on, but somehow that was worse. At least, that's what I heard other people saying, the ones he looked straight through like they were invisible. As for me, I would have preferred that a million times more than what I was getting.

And to think, if I hadn't picked that stupid seat on the first day of school, he probably never would have noticed me. If he hadn't noticed me, I wouldn't have become his personal chew toy.

Turns out, everyone avoids Jace's personal chew toy. Making friends in the Big Apple was even harder than I'd anticipated, which was certainly saying something.

About halfway through my freshman year, just when I was contemplating begging my mom to abandon her newly opened diner and moving back home again, my friendless status changed.

It was during P.E. I'd always been great at gym class in my old town; everyone always picked me for their team, and flinched every time I aimed a dodge ball at them. But here, it was like I'd changed into a different person. I was the one that was shying away from the volleyball as Jace—wearing a disgusting little grin on his face—spiked it toward me every time he was up to serve. But can you blame me? The force of that volleyball would have taken my head clean off my shoulders.

Near the end of the period, one of Jace's friends made this incredible serve—right onto the top of some poor kid's head. He staggered around for a few seconds, looking dazed, and the teacher told him to get an icepack and sit down on the bleachers. He trudged off the court while Jace and his friends roared with laughter.

I'd seen the kid a few times before. He had friends, I was pretty sure—he sat with some of the less "cool" kids at lunch, though they didn't say much. Mostly they had their noses stuffed into comic books. But he looked so lonely sitting on the bleachers that I jogged off the court—the teacher didn't even notice—and stopped in front of him.

He looked up at me with the eye that wasn't concealed by an icepack. He held his glasses in one hand, so tightly that his knuckles were turning white. He had the glummest expression on his face, like he expected me to take a volleyball out from behind my back, yell, _Surprise! _and catapult it into his face.

"Hi," I said, always the articulate.

"Hi," he said quietly.

I stood there for a second as awkward silence descended. I searched for something to say. Had I always been this antisocial? Finally, I managed, "Are you okay? Looked like you got hit pretty hard."

"I guess."

"I'm Clary," I told him.

He dropped his eyes and mumbled what sounded like, "Simon."

"Cool. Nice to meet you."

He bobbed his head in a nod. Silence fell.

In my defense, he wasn't exactly making much of an effort at conversation, either. His face was bright red, as if everything about that moment embarrassed him.

Words blurted out of my mouth without my permission. "I hate Jace and his friends."

His one visible eye widened and he looked at me with something akin to awe, like he couldn't believe I'd had the guts to say it. "Yeah," he said. "Me too." He paused, then added, "I hate Jace a lot," as if trying out the words for the first time.

I smiled tentatively at him, and he smiled back.

It was a sorry first impression on both our parts, but it was enough to start us on our way to being best friends.

And I have to say, having a friend makes every situation look a whole lot more hopeful.

* * *

My mom dragged us to New York for two reasons: one, her best friend Luke lived there, and two, she'd always wanted to open her own diner, which she apparently couldn't do in Colorado. I'd been against the whole thing from the start—even though I loved the idea of getting to see Luke whenever I wanted—but she made it clear it wasn't open for discussion.

She opened her diner only a few months after we moved to NYC. She named it Valentine's, but whenever I tried to ask why she'd chosen the name, she just got a funny look on her face and changed the subject.

Anyway, my mom didn't have a lot of money after she bought the property, the store, and fixed it up so it didn't look like a complete dump, so naturally she depended on me to be her star employee. And by star, I mean only, aside from Chef Timothy.

When my sophomore year rolled around, she hired Mona Welch, a twenty-something high school dropout who chomped gum like it was an Olympic sport and who treated waitressing like a hobby she'd get around to when she felt like it. But my mom couldn't afford anyone better, no matter how much both of us disliked her.

I didn't mind working at the diner at first, despite Mona's laziness and the way one look from Chef Timothy could strike fear into my heart. Simon came to keep me company a lot of the time. Once you got to know him, all of that shyness he showed that day in P.E. vanished, and he became the most animated kid I'd ever met. He could go on for hours about comic books, video games, movies, and everything else that fascinated him. A lot of the time the things he said went right over my head, but I didn't have the heart to tell him that I didn't know who the Green Lantern had defeated in issue no. 24.

Long story short, the diner was enjoyable a lot of the time. My mom even paid me sometimes. Yep, it was just wonderful.

Until Jace Wayland started showing up.

The first time he walked through the door with his gaggle of friends crowding into a booth after him, I made a strangled yelping sound and hit the deck behind the counter. The last thing I wanted was for Jace to see me wearing an apron, in prime position for teasing.

My mom picked that moment to walk out of the kitchen. She saw me and stopped, looking down at me with that somewhat sad look she got when she was thinking, _Where did I go wrong? _

"Are you all right, Clary?" she asked. Translation: _Are you nuts?_

"Oh," I said, scrambling to my feet and keeping my back to Jace's table. "Yeah. I'm great."

She gave me an odd look. "Okay… Go take care of that table then, please."

I swallowed the panic that was building in my throat. "Y-you mean that table?" I pointed to the tired-looking mother who was trying to feed her yelling toddler some yogurt. They'd been seated and served for about ten minutes, but hopefully my mom hadn't noticed that.

She narrowed her eyes. "No. I mean _that _one." She took my shoulders and spun me around. Jace was facing me at the table. His gold eyes were already fixed on me, as if he'd been just waiting for me to turn and see him. Of course he knew it was me—the hair was a dead giveaway.

When he saw me looking, he wiggled his fingertips in a mocking wave.

I turned quickly back to my mom, my face heating up. "Can't Mona take that table?" I asked in a voice that sounded like I was choking.

"Clary." My mom was using her Exasperated Voice. "Mona's section is full. You can't always dump your work on her whenever you don't feel like taking a table."

I opened my mouth to protest against this shocking show of injustice, but my mom had already hurried over to another table to smile and ask if they were having a pleasant meal.

That was another problem with New York. My mom didn't have enough time for me anymore.

I moved toward Jace's table on robot legs, wishing a hole would open up in the floor and suck me in so I didn't have to go through this. Hadn't I had enough punishment from Jace for taking that damn seat? Hadn't I gone through enough tripping as I passed his desk, being shouldered into lockers in the hall, and the endless, _endless _redhead jokes?

I was never going to catch a break, was I?

I stopped in front of their table, my eyes glued to my notepad, and mumbled, "What can I get you?"

"I'll take a ginger ale," Jace said, and my eyes glanced up at him against my will. He was looking at me with a totally serious face, but the snickers from his friends informed me that he wasn't a ginger ale kind of guy.

You see what I mean? _Endless redhead jokes. _

The rest of them gave me their orders as well, all of them red-related and humiliating. I got out of there as fast as I could, certain my face was as fiery as my hair.

It didn't improve my mood when I ducked behind the counter and found Mona waiting for me. She had a scornful look on her face, and she was leaning against the counter in a casual way that certainly didn't look like she had a full section to attend to.

"What?" I snapped, wishing she'd butt out of my business for once.

"You totally let them trample you," she told me. "What ever happened to fighting back, huh?"

I kept my gaze fixed stonily on my notepad as I flipped furiously through the pages without seeing any of the writing there. "It doesn't concern you, Mona."

"Oh, come on!" she exclaimed. "You're going to let them win? You're pathetic, Clary. Absolutely pathetic." She paused for a second and studied the table. "The blond one is pretty hot though," she observed, and it took an admirable amount of will power on my part not to swing a bar stool at her head.

* * *

_Thanks for reading another chapter! Unfortunately I won't be able to update next week since I'm going on vacation, but I'll update as soon as I get back, cross my heart and hope to die. ...Well, maybe not hope to die. But I promise! _


	3. Chapter 3

_Whoo I'm back! Is everyone pumped?! *silence* Well I should probably just get on with the chapter then shouldn't I? Thanks for being so patient!_

Jace came back every single day with his friends after that. I wasn't sure if they loved the food, the atmosphere, or tormenting me the most. It seemed pretty desperate to me if he came back just so he could make fun of me in the one place I thought I'd had refuge from him and his unending stupidity. He didn't seem to get tired of it, though—sophomore year passed and we were well into our junior year, and Jace showed no signs of giving up.

And they always sat at that same table, always sure to be in my section of the restaurant. Sometimes Mona agreed to take it for me, probably so she could have an excuse to talk to all the hot too-young-for-her guys, and I was grateful to her for that, even though it wasn't really for my benefit. But even then, Jace always found a way to humiliate me, calling across the restaurant to me or finding me on his way to the bathroom.

It got to the point where when I had time, I hid in the back room on a stack of cardboard boxes when he showed up at exactly 3:30 with his whole obnoxious group in toe.

Simon found me there once. He hurried in and closed the door behind him, face pale. "Thought I'd find you here," he said breathlessly.

"What happened to you?" I asked, getting to my feet.

"Had to sneak past your chef to get back here. That guy is frightening," he said shakily. "I really don't think I'm allowed to be here."

"You'd be right," I said, laughing a little as he sat heavily down on one of the boxes.

"What are you doing back here anyway?" he asked, wrinkling his nose as he looked around at the dusty storage room that was full of extra chairs, tables, and cookery.

"Um…inventory work?" I said weakly.

"You're hiding from Wayland, aren't you?"

I studied my hands and didn't answer.

He sighed. "Come on, Clary. He's just a person. Albeit an extremely annoying, cruel, and hateful person, but still a person way deep down. And he shouldn't have the kind of power over you that makes you crouch in boxes."

I curled my hands into fists on my knees. "I know. But what else am I supposed to do? I can't stop him. I can't tell him to leave. My mom would be furious, even if I did have the guts to do it. And don't you dare tell me to grin and bear it, or I will beat you to death with your own comic books," I threatened with a scowl.

Simon held up his hands defensively. "I wasn't going to say anything like that. Quite the opposite, actually."

I put my face in my hands and sighed, rubbing my temples. "It had better not have anything to do with getting bitten by radioactive spiders or other superhero related things."

"Come on, Clary," he scoffed. "Where would we get a radioactive spider?"

"Just let me hear your idea."

"Don't just sit there and take his abuse," he said. I looked at him doubtfully. "You heard me. Fight back. Or ignore him. Either way, he'll get scared off or bored, and you'll be rid of him."

I snorted. "Please tell me you're joking. You really think he's going to give up just like that?"

"No, but at least it'll be easier for you. And more fun, if you get to smack him around a little. Sounds pretty great to me," he said dreamily.

"People like me can't just go up to Jace Wayland and start cursing him out, Simon. It would get me beaten up."

"I think you could be way scarier than Jace and his groupies," Simon told me. "You just have to learn to stick up for yourself. Lose the meek, scared mouse attitude and you'll do fine."

Simon didn't usually give me pep talks, and I was beginning to see why, because this wasn't very comforting. But then again, he had a point. It wasn't like I hadn't dreamt of myself marching up to Jace in the halls at school or the diner, shouting every insult that had ever popped into my head, and then giving him a good slug to the face. Maybe spoil his good looks with a black eye or two.

But that was just a dream, because obviously I wasn't the type to go up and punch someone in the nose. I was too quiet, too shy, and too small. I could never be intimidating. If I ever tried to hit Jace, he would probably pound me into a pulp and squish me under his shoe.

"What have you got to lose?" Simon added.

"How about my life?" I said, a little offended. "My dignity?"

"Neither of us have dignity. That's why Jace's type picks on us," he answered dryly. He had a point.

"I can't just change my personality," I protested, hugging my knees to my chest and feeling smaller than ever.

"You won't have to change anything, Clary. Believe it or not, you have the potential to be extremely scary. When you get angry, you make me want to run for cover. All you've got to do is let that anger guide your actions."

"That sounds dangerous," I said, raising my eyebrows. "And I thought people weren't supposed to act in the heat of the moment."

"In this case, try it," he suggested. I didn't think Simon was very good at giving advice, but bad or not, I was seriously considering following it. "Just try. Here. I'll pretend to be Jace. Imagine his fat head on my shoulders right now."

I laughed and then sobered up, trying to envision Jace Wayland's smirk in front of me. It was surprisingly easy.

"Hey, Gingerbread, where's my soda?" Simon said in a pathetic imitation of Jace's voice. "Am I going to have to speak to your manager? Or call your mother? I guess it's the same thing, isn't it?"

"That was lame," I said, frowning at him.

Simon sighed. "We've established that I have crappy acting skills. Just imagine, okay? Now, tell me to shut up."

I had to shut my eyes because Simon's innocent, sweet face kept distracting me from trying to whip myself up into a rage. "Shut up," I said unconvincingly.

"What was that? Did you just tell me to shut up, uh, Gingivitis?"

Ugh. I remembered when Jace had called me Gingivitis for a week, and everyone else had thought it so clever and so funny that even people outside his inner circle had taken to calling me that. At least the name had died out now.

"Yeah, I did," I said, in a slightly louder voice. "Shut up and never talk to me again. You're nothing but a pompous, bigheaded, obnoxious moron. I don't care how good-looking you are, at least _I'm _going to get into a decent college!" I was nearly shouting by the time I was finished. I imagined Jace's shocked face as I opened my eyes. Instead, it was Simon, smiling approvingly.

"See? Nothing to it! Although I would leave out the part about him being good-looking. It's kind of defeating the purpose to compliment him."

"Right," I said a little breathlessly. "Thanks, Simon. I—"

Before I could say anything else, the door swung open and Chef Timothy stood there, red-faced, and chased us out of the storage closet, eyeing us with mistrust as if afraid we'd been poisoning his ingredients.

But even getting yelled at by Timothy wasn't enough to puncture the hope that had just blossomed in my chest.

* * *

_Since I didn't update for a week, and because this chapter was a little short, I'll be updating again in two or three days. Thanks for reading and reviewing!_


	4. Chapter 4

_You guys are so great! Thanks for all the lovely reviews, and thanks for reading! _

I've got to admit, I never expected to actually say any of those things to the real Jace. I promised Simon I would try to get him off my back, but when I looked into Jace's mocking, beautiful golden eyes, the resolve left me and I was as shy as ever.

But then one day as Jace was calling to me from across the diner—_Waitress! Have you gotten my refill yet or not?—_it hit me.

Why did I need to be shy around Jace? I kept quiet so that I wouldn't annoy people, get on their bad sides, or make a bad impression. I already hated Jace, there was no way I could get even further on his bad side, and it was a little late to be worried about bad impressions. And Simon was right—if we let ourselves be pushed around like we were, then we didn't really have that much dignity to speak of anyway.

What did I have to lose?

Feeling strangely detached from my body, I walked over to his table. His friends were snickering together, which probably meant Jace was planning something.

"What can I get you?" I asked mechanically.

"A new waitress?" Jace suggested with a wicked smile. His friends sniggered like immature gorillas.

I opened my mouth but thought fled as I looked at him. Why did he have to be so annoyingly attractive? _I hate you, _I thought fiercely. _I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, I hate you. You are not attractive. You are a self-centered jerk. _

"Shut up," I said, so quietly he probably didn't hear me.

"What was that?" He leaned toward me, still smirking. "Didn't catch it."

"I said, _shut up," _I repeated, so loudly that the other diners looked up in surprise and stared at me. I hadn't meant to say it so loudly, but at least it had the desired effect. Jace looked at me as if I had just slapped him in the face. I had never, not once, talked back to him. I'd never shown any backbone of my own. And here I was, finally telling him the two words that countless people before me had probably longed to say but never had.

I felt brave. I felt strong. I felt wonderful.

"Leave me alone, Jace Wayland," I said, managing to drop my voice. "Or I swear I will shove this fork so far into your forehead it'll stick in your brain."

His stunned expression melted into another little sneer. "Did the Wizard finally grant you a brain, Clarecrow?"

"Clary!" My mom's sharp voice made me cringe. I should have known she would hear me yelling. I gave Jace a look of death and then turned to march off. His friends started snickering again but I didn't turn back to look, even though I instantly worried that it was about me.

Their snickers grew to roars and, bizarrely, mooing noises as I walked away, face hot, to be told off by my mom.

* * *

I didn't find out what the source of their laughter had been until later. Simon came to help me close up as he sometimes did, and stopped dead, staring at my back with his mouth open. Before I could say anything, he snatched something off my back-a piece of paper. He stared down at it with a little grimace, looking as if he'd rather keep it to himself.

"Give it to me, Simon," I said, holding out my hand and trying to use my newfound assertiveness to my advantage.

"There's nothing to see," he said weakly, reluctantly handing it over as I continued to glare.

I unfolded it and stared. In big, bold letters, it said, "**Will Moo for Free Milk." **

"Is that an innuendo or something?"

I crumpled it up and chucked it across the room. "Those—those—!"

"Jerks," he finished.

I kicked the wall, which was a mistake because I had taken off my too-tight shoes, so I only succeeded in crunching my toes. Cursing, I sat down at one of the stools at the counter and rubbed my foot, fury swirling around inside me.

"They've never done that before," Simon said, shaking his head in disbelief. "Not even in ninth grade."

"I swear they are digressing intellectually the older they get," I said through gritted teeth.

"Tell you what. In ten years, you and I are going to go and see him when he's living in a box on a corner of Manhattan, and we'll laugh about it." He slung an arm around my shoulders and I leaned into him, managing a laugh.

"I told him to shut up today," I said, allowing myself a small smile.

His mouth fell open. "You—you told—Clary! I'm so proud!" Laughing, he threw his arms around me, practically crushing the air out of me.

"Let go! Can't breathe!" I gasped, and he released me, doing a little dance in the middle of the empty diner.

"Keep it up!" he whooped. "Don't let him get his bearings back! Back him into a corner and Spam him!"

"Spam him?" I repeated, arching my eyebrows.

"Yeah, it's this thing in video games, when you take an enemy and—"

"All right. I'll take your word for it." I waved my hands to cut him off, unable to bear another long story about his adventures on Xbox Live.

* * *

At school the next day, I was fully prepared for Jace's wrath. But I don't think he was prepared for mine. I'd lain awake a long time last night, thinking about the note he'd taped onto my back and letting it feed my anger until I'd worked it into a good boil. When I woke up the next morning, sleep-deprived and cranky, the anger was still there. And I was pretty eager to see that shocked expression on Jace's face again.

I marched into school rather than slunk in. I didn't keep my head down and I didn't avoid everyone's eyes. A few people seemed to notice the changes in me and watched me curiously, although I was still too uncool for them to approach and actually talk to. What a thought!

I didn't have my first two classes with Jace, so I sat bouncing impatiently in my seat for almost two hours, not paying much attention to what the teacher was saying and thinking about that immature note, and the laughter of Jace and his friends as I walked away from their table wearing it.

Finally third period history rolled around, and I stopped halfway to my desk in the back of the room, an idea forming. I was one of the first ones in the classroom since I'd fast walked without making a stop at my locker. It was probably the first time in my whole life I'd ever been eager to see Jace Wayland.

It was probably a stupid idea, but I turned on my heel, walked to the middle of the room, and sat at the desk Jace had gone to painstaking measures to reserve for himself, going as far as scratching his name into the top. It was strangely symbolic for me; this was how I'd first gotten him to hate me, and now we'd come full circle. This time, I would not be fleeing to the back of the room fighting tears.

I imagined our positions switched, with him sniffling in the back row with red eyes, and I had to fight back laughter at the thought.

Students trickled into the classroom; a few of them appeared to be whispering about me. I couldn't blame them. It wasn't every day Jace's punching bag plopped down in his Throne of Magnificence. Finally, just before the bell rang, he walked in with two of his friends, both of whom were laughing at something no doubt ingenious he'd just said. Then his gaze fell on me, and his smile vanished. There was fire in his eyes as he walked over to me. The rest of the conversation going on in the room cut off as everyone turned to watch.

Jace stopped in front of my desk and crossed his arms over his chest, staring down at me with the smallest of smiles on his lips. It reminded me so much of my first day here, when I'd first met him, when he'd humiliated me in front of everyone. I usually tried not to think about that day, but now it came back full force, fueling my anger.

"You're in my seat." His friends guffawed, obviously remembering the first time he'd said that to me.

"Am I?" I said pleasantly, keeping my eyes locked on his, even though my fingers were trembling a little.

His smile faded just a bit. "Yeah. So get out."

I sank farther down into the seat without taking my eyes off his. "I'm pretty comfortable right here."

He leaned forward with his hands on the desk, and my sense of déjà vu grew even stronger. His face was level with mine. It wasn't often I saw him look serious; usually he was smirking. But he was starting to get pissed off. I could see that pretty easily.

"You really want to start something, Fray?" he asked quietly. He'd never called me by my last name before; it was always something ginger-related.

I leaned closer, furious with myself for the way my stomach fluttered at our close proximity. Our faces were just inches away, a fact that might have made me incoherent not long ago, but now my head was clear.

"I think I do," I said, just as quietly.

His gold eyes narrowed and he opened his mouth to say more, or maybe just to curse me out, but Mr. Tasker, our teacher, walked in at that moment, calling in his sharp voice for everyone to take their seats. Not even Jace disobeyed someone as scary as Mr. Tasker, so with one last cold look at me he resigned himself to the back row.

I was on cloud nine for the rest of the day.


	5. Chapter 5

I never expected to see Jace at the diner again. I figured the feud we had between us had just stepped up to the next level, and he wouldn't seek out opportunities to see me anymore. But that very same day after school, at 3:30 on the dot, he entered the diner with his usual crowd of followers.

I'm not going to lie, seeing him walk in, smirking and laughing with his friends and ignoring me as I glared at him while he took his seat, made me really angry. Hadn't I shown him that I wasn't afraid of him anymore? Couldn't he just admit that I'd won this round, and leave me in peace as a reward?

Obviously not. I marched over to where Mona was filling drinks for another table, chomping on her gum in that obnoxiously loud way she has. It had occurred to me that she'd probably seen the note taped on my back and had neglected to tell me about it, so I was none too happy with her, either. But I wasn't angry enough where I wouldn't ask a favor of her.

"Will you take that table?" I waved vaguely in the direction of Jace's table, wary of being mocked again by my coworker.

"Sorry, I'm swamped over here. Fight your own battles," she said grumpily, whisking a tray full of drinks to the other side of the room. I had to admit, she was pretty busy over there. So I had no choice but to serve His Royal Pigheadedness myself.

I took my time getting there. What did it matter if they got bad service? It wasn't like they'd ever once left me a tip anyway. I made a mental note to ask Mona if she ever got a tip from them, or if it was just me they wanted to spite with their cheapness.

"What can I get you?" I said through gritted teeth when I had no choice but to stop at their table.

"About time," one of Jace's friends, Sebastian I thought his name was, said. I glanced at him to find him watching me steadily with his cool black eyes. Unlike the others, he was never grinning stupidly or following Jace around like a devoted puppy. He was more like Jace's equal, his second-hand man at the very least. He'd dyed his hair pure white and the effect was flattering. He made me more nervous than any of Jace's other friends, so I tried to ignore him.

"Just some drinks today. Although I'm kind of in the mood for something salty too," Jace answered casually, his eyes on the menu. I didn't trust his nonchalance. I took their orders and left feeling suspicious and unsettled, deeply wishing that Mona had taken their table.

Jace would want revenge for what happened today. No matter what Simon said, I had not scared him off with something as little as taking his seat in history, unless he was a bigger coward than I thought. I didn't trust him at all. He was up to something.

They didn't order much, just a large basket of nachos and drinks, but they stayed for hours. They were still there at 5:30 when the dinner rush started. I really wished they would leave, because it made me uncomfortable knowing they were probably watching me dart back and forth from table to table. Also, they were taking up valuable space that other customers needed. I wished my mother were in today, because I definitely would have complained. Darn—and it would have been so nice to see them get kicked out, too.

Eventually it got so busy that they slipped from my mind entirely. I was hurrying past their table with a tray teetering with drinks, completely forgetting to give them a wide berth, when it happened. Someone—looking back, I know it had to have been Jace—stuck their foot out and I stumbled right into it.

I went down hard, the tray slipping from my hands. The glasses smashed on the floor with a crash that brought all eyes on me, and I found myself lying on the ground in a puddle of soda, soaked, dazed, and absolutely humiliated.

And I'd thought crying after Jace had made me get up from his seat had been humiliating. This was a hundred times worse.

Mona was standing by the counter, staring at me, dumbfounded and not making any move to help me up. Jace's table was roaring with laughter. I looked up at them to see Jace looking down at me with his arms crossed over his chest, slumped in his chair, wearing the smuggest little smirk I have ever seen. Sebastian sat next to him, staring disinterestedly at the wall like I hadn't just made a total spectacle of myself.

I got carefully to my feet, not wanting to slip in the puddle and embarrass myself a second time. Without looking at Jace's table, I walked over to the counter, grabbed a cold pot of coffee from this morning, and walked back. Without saying anything, I tipped it over Jace's head.

Several people around the diner gasped. A few little kids shrieked with laughter. Jace's friends stared bug-eyed, no longer laughing. Jace's expression was frozen, his eyes wide, as if he had gone into shock. Sebastian, I noticed, had the tiniest smile on his face, as if he found the whole thing mildly amusing.

"Your drink, sir," I said frigidly, spinning around and stalking straight out the diner door, ripping off my sopping apron and fighting back tears of fury.

It didn't matter to me that my mother would be furious that I had not only doused a customer in cold coffee, but that I'd also walked out and left Mona alone to handle the whole diner by herself. I didn't care about her. I was so angry I saw red in the edges of my vision.

All I'd done was take his stupid seat. It wasn't like I'd publicly humiliated him, beyond tarnishing his dangerous reputation just a little. Was sitting in a chair a crime? It certainly didn't call for what he'd just done, at least not in my opinion. A few other kids I recognized from school had been sitting at a nearby table when the whole thing happened. This story would spread around school like a wildfire.

At least I hadn't run out without reciprocating. At least I hadn't let him take all the glory. If Jace's friends were the only ones who had witnessed it, then maybe Jace's own humiliation would have been overlooked as the story was retold. But I distinctly remembered seeing a few senior girls and a group of football jocks crowded at a nearby table, taking the whole scene in. I had faith that they wouldn't be afraid to tell the whole story like it was.

I didn't want to go home, so I just started walking. There were rain clouds overhead and I knew, with my luck, a downpour would start the one time I wasn't riding home in my mom's car or taking a taxi. I had no destination in mind. I just wanted to be somewhere else, be some_one _else.

The rain started after about fifteen minutes of walking aimlessly. Not that it mattered; I was already wet from my soaking in the sodas. I shoved my hands in my pockets and kept my head low against the downpour, wishing I had an umbrella or something. The wind picked up and lashed droplets against my face; I couldn't even hear the sounds of traffic over it.

I darted into an alley and stood pressed up against the wall, sheltered by the worst of the storm. I hoped Simon never found out I'd done this; run out of work, into the rain, and stood in a dirty alley. He'd just been telling me that I couldn't let Jace get these sort of reactions out of me. I couldn't let him chase me away from my life.

After I'd moped sufficiently, I reached into my pocket for money for a cab. Turns out, I didn't have any. That didn't improve my temper any. Luckily, I'd only walked a few blocks past my house, so it wouldn't be a long walk back. But it would still be a walk through torrential rain.

By the time I reached my apartment, I was dripping puddles everywhere I stepped and shivering with cold.

Someone must have told my mom that I'd run out—probably Mona, the traitor—because she was waiting for me. She was situated in the living room, with one lamp on and her arms crossed over her chest, the basic Lecturing Mother pose. She fixed me with a look that felt like it was melting the skin off my face.

"Clarissa Fray," she said in her low, dangerous voice that never fails to frighten me. "How could you be so ridiculously stupid?"

Normally, my mother's lectures didn't start off like that. That was why I couldn't come up with a response in time to stop her from continuing; I just stared at her with my mouth open, scrambling to think of something to say.

"You look like you have no idea what I'm talking about. Let's count off the reasons, shall we?" She held up her hand and began to tick them off on her fingers as she said each one. "You poured coffee over a customer's head. You ran out of the diner and left Mona alone with a huge mess to clean up and dozens of customers. You wandered around New York City, alone, at night, in the rain. And you are now dripping all over my carpet."

She paused, her eyes burning holes into me, and said, "What do you have to say for yourself?"

I'd gone over a million things I could say in my head on the way home, but they had all deserted me. "I was mad," I said weakly.

"You were mad, so you ran out on your job and walked around one of the most dangerous cities in the country by yourself?"

"I didn't think things through."

"Obviously."

"Mom, I'm sorry." I avoided her eyes, the guilt building up inside me. "But this guy tripped me, and he humiliated me in front of everyone, and—"

"Did you ever think that it might have been an accident?" she demanded, eyes flashing.

I gaped at her. My mind could not even process that possibility. "An accident?" I exploded. "Mom, he _hates _me. He's hated me ever since ninth grade! There's no way he could have done that accidentally."

"You can't know that for sure," she said sharply. "Don't try to pin the blame for tonight on anyone other than yourself, Clary. Take responsibility for your own actions."

"I'm not saying that everything is his fault," I said angrily, "I'm just saying that he tripped me on purpose—"

"Leave that boy out of this," she snapped. "I want to know what possessed you to pour coffee over his head, then run out—"

"I don't know, okay?" I shouted, throwing my hands up. "I don't know what I was thinking! I was angry and frustrated and embarrassed, so I just acted! Are you telling me you've never acted without thinking before? Because unless you skipped being a teenager entirely, I won't believe you!"

She was silent, and for a second I thought she was going to tell me something, something important and secret that would make everything better, that would fix our crumbling relationship. But she just said quietly, "Go to your room, Clary."

I hadn't been sent to my room since fifth grade. Hadn't I been humiliated enough for one night? But I didn't argue. I stomped down the hall and slammed the door to my room. It took all my willpower not to pick up the chair at my desk and fling it at the wall.

I remembered when my mom used to understand. She used to look at me with concern and sit me down and say, "Tell me everything." She would hear me out and she always, always believed my side of the story. Had New York had some kind of weird effect on her, changed her into someone completely different? Or had the diner done that?

Or maybe it was me. Maybe I was the one that had changed, and moved beyond her reach.

I lay down on my bed and stared at the ceiling as two tears slipped down my cheek and disappeared into my horribly red hair.

* * *

_I'm not going to lie, writing the coffee-over-Jace's-head scene gave me a lot of satisfaction. Thanks for reading, and please leave a review to tell me what you think! _


	6. Chapter 6

_Thanks so much for all the reviews, guys! They make me oh so very happy!_

_(Someone mentioned that in the previous chapter, I made New York City out to seem like it was a really dangerous place, and I apologize if that bothered anyone. I was trying to play up that Clary's mom was from a small town in Colorado, and was frankly a little scared of NYC. I think New York is great!)_

My mom and I barely spoke to each other the next morning. She acknowledged me only long enough to tell me curtly that I had to work for the rest of the week from the moment school let out to closing time, and I wouldn't be getting paid for it.

I was surprised that she wanted me to spend more time at the diner after what an embarrassment I'd been last night. But I didn't question her punishment. In fact, I didn't talk to her at all as I grabbed my backpack and walked out, forcing myself not to slam the door behind me.

Simon was waiting for me outside the school. He leaped to his feet the second he saw me, eyes wide. "Hey, I heard what happened."

"I'm sure everyone has," I muttered.

"So…what happened?"

"I thought you said you heard already."

"I did, but I'm sure the story's been twisted on its journey through school." He looked a little nervous as he asked, "Did you really try to stab him with a butter knife?"

I made an annoyed sound and filled him in on what really happened. By the time I was done, he looked amazed.

"You really poured coffee over his head? Clary Fray, you are my hero."

I laughed. Simon could always bring me out of the blackest of moods.

* * *

I did not want to see Jace that day. At all. I didn't want to deal with him or whatever "clever" revenge he had in mind. I didn't want his immature insults or his friends' obnoxious laughter tailing me in the halls. Under different circumstances, I would have wanted to gloat over his caffeine shower, but not today. Not after my mother had refused to listen to me, not after the humiliation I'd gone through.

I was so done with Jace Wayland.

I didn't look at anyone as I walked through the halls. I stared straight ahead, or concentrated on Simon if he was walking with me. I knew people were whispering at me, exaggerating the story of last night's scene. A group of the "it" girls, who were obsessed with Jace, gave me filthy looks when I passed them on my way to chemistry.

And then it was time for history. I was dreading it. Simon gave me a solemn salute for good luck before parting ways with me outside the classroom. I took a deep breath and walked in, fighting the urge to duck my head the way I used to when I was scared of Jace.

All eyes turned to me as I entered. I felt a tingle of relief when I saw that Jace's seat was empty. I'd beaten him here. At least he wouldn't try to trip me, or stab me, or whatever he had planned for today.

I didn't quite dare sit in his seat today, so I took my old one in the back of the room. I hoped it didn't look like a sign of submission.

Jace walked in about a minute before the tardy bell rang. He took his seat without looking at me. Sebastian, however, caught my eye and gave me a tiny smile. I quickly looked away, blushing and stunned that he wasn't as scandalized as Jace's other friends seemed to be about the incident at the diner.

Mr. Tasker walked in, silencing all conversation. I stared at the back of Jace's head, a sick feeling growing in my stomach. It was not wise to assume that he was finished with me. If he had purposely sent me sprawling while holding a tray of drinks last night just for sitting in his seat, there was no telling what he would do after getting coffee dumped on his head.

I couldn't pay attention during Mr. Tasker's class. He called on me for an answer and I fumbled and stuttered until he frowned at me and called on someone else. For once, it didn't make me want to disappear into the floor when he gave me his patented look of disapproval and moved on. I had not known humiliation until last night.

I was debating whether or not to zoom out of the classroom the moment the bell rang or wait until he left first when Jace suddenly raised his hand. Mr. Tasker broke off in the middle of his lecture, taken off guard. Jace rarely paid attention in class, let alone participated. _Probably needs to use the bathroom, _I thought, trying to reassure myself.

"Would you say that after the Civil War, a lot of northerners wanted to get _revenge _on the south?" he asked, and the implications in his voice made my skin prickle.

Mr. Tasker looked confused. "Some of them did, yes. Many southerners were quite unhappy with the north, as well."

Jace nodded once and resumed slouching in his seat. "Good to know."

"In fact," Mr. Tasker went on, recovering his stride, "that brings us to discussing the Radicals, who strongly believed..."

I stopped listening. I knew that Jace's question had been for my benefit. Now I had no doubt in my mind that Jace was going to get me back for my stunt last night.

But I couldn't even summon up the energy to be afraid.

The bell rang and I stood up at once, slinging my bag over my shoulder and heading straight for the door. Somehow, Jace beat me there. He braced his hand against the doorframe, blocking my way.

"You sure seem like you're in a hurry to leave, Fray," he said with mock concern. "Don't have somewhere to be, do you?"

"She needs to get to her little diner job," one of his friends snickered. I ignored him, because he was one of the brainless ones that could barely form a coherent sentence without someone helping him through it. "Not gonna break any more glasses, are you, Fray?"

It's funny how the second Jace started calling me Fray, everyone else picked it up, too. _They're like a bunch of sheep, _I thought scornfully.

"Careful, I hear those diner floors are awfully slippery," another of Jace's posse sneered.

I gave him a brief, withering look. "Wow. That must have been a big intellectual strain for you to think up something so clever."

His smirk collapsed into a frown as he tried to think of a response, and failed.

"Looks like someone grew a backbone after all," Jace taunted, gold eyes glinting at me. A wonderful smell was coming off him, something that only made me hate him more. Why did he have to be so perfect? Was there no physical flaw to Jace Wayland?

"Get out of my way," I said icily, trying to stare him down. It's hard to be intimidating when you're more than a head shorter than your enemy.

Jace didn't move his arm, never taking his eyes off of mine. "I don't think you're in any position to make demands."

I'd had just about enough. Reluctantly restraining myself from giving him a good kick to the shins, I ducked under his arm and darted into the hall. I half expected him to grab my arm and haul me back, but I managed to join the flow of students without pursuance. I glanced back over my shoulder to see him right where I'd left him, smirking after me.

I'd never hated a person before Jace. It was a strange sensation, but also kind of satisfying. It was nice to have a target to aim my anger at.

* * *

Two days passed, and Jace didn't exact his revenge. I was on my toes, always ready, but he barely looked in my direction after that day in history class, not at school and not at the diner. It wasn't the least bit comforting to see him ignoring me. It just made me suspicious.

"He's up to something," I insisted to Simon, who was beginning to look at me in that pitying way that meant he thought I was starting to lose my mind.

"Look, Clary. Maybe you should accept that he's gotten bored with you and moved on to some other victim. In which case, you should be glad," he added.

I scowled. "He's been hassling me for nearly three years. He isn't going to just 'move on' as easily as that, especially after getting coffee poured on his head."

Simon sighed. "You're so pessimistic. Would it kill you to look on the bright side for once?"

I folded my arms. "Maybe it would. You've got to stay on your toes, Simon."

He muttered something about paranoid freaks, which I chose to let slide.

And then one fateful day Jace's streak of looking straight through me whenever our paths crossed ended.

I was juggling three different textbooks in my arms, trying to cram them all in my locker at once, when I noticed the telltale parting of the crowd like water around a rock. I looked up and saw Golden Boy himself striding toward me in all of his pretty perfection, followed by his usual band of idiots and Sebastian.

It wasn't the best time to be approached. I'd been hoping my hands would be free when he finally made his move, in case I had to throw a few punches or make a wild run for it. I realized belatedly that I was just standing there staring at him like a frozen fish. I turned back to my locker and tried to stuff the books in all at once, but they all just fell loudly to the ground at my feet.

I bent down quickly to retrieve them, cursing myself for letting my clumsy streak show at a crucial time like this. A pair of black shoes stopped in front of me, and then suddenly Jace was crouching right next to me, his annoyingly good scent wafting around me.

"Here, let me help you," he said silkily, picking up two of the textbooks even as I made a snatch for them.

We both rose at the same time. I'd planned on fixing him with a death stare and demanding my books back, but on the way up I banged my head on the corner of my open locker door and nearly dropped my book again.

Trying not to wince from the sharp pain in my scalp, I threw the textbook I held into the locker and yanked the ones he offered me out of his arms, stuffing them in as well. I closed the locker and finally turned to look at him. Several people in the hall had turned to watch. I'm pretty sure they'd all been anticipating some revenge, too; the coffee story had gone around fast.

He just stood there and looked at me expectantly, almost as if he thought I was going to make pleasant small talk.

Instead, I asked in a surly voice, "What do you want?"

Jace blinked, looking innocent. Too innocent. "I just wanted to invite you to come to a party with me this Friday," he said.

All right. That wasn't what I'd been expecting. I tried to hide my astonishment, but I don't think I did a very good job. "A party?" I spluttered. "With…you?"

"Yeah," he said easily. "I've been thinking about the other night, when you poured the coffee over my head." There were a few gasps and a lot of mutters from our audience, but I could detect no hint of malevolence in Jace's voice. This was not normal. "I really shouldn't have tripped you." He rubbed the back of his neck in a way that seemed almost sheepish.

"Are you drunk?" I demanded, making several people snicker.

"Clary, I am insulted," he said, pressing a hand to his chest. "I'm trying to do something nice for you, and you accuse me of being intoxicated?"

"That's the only explanation I can think of."

He sighed and gave me an impatient look. "Will you come with me or not?"

A movement caught my eye and I glanced over to see Simon at the edge of the crowd, waving his arms frantically over his head to get my attention. He shook his head violently back and forth, mouthing the word, _NO! _

I looked away quickly, my face feeling hot. "Whose party?" I asked, doing my best to ignore Simon's frenzied dance.

"Mine, actually," he said. "Well, sort of. It's my sister's."

I'd never actually spoken to Jace's brother and sister, Alec and Isabelle Lightwood, but I'd seen them in the halls and I'd heard the stories. Isabelle was probably the most sought-after girl in school. She was eye-poppingly gorgeous, and the object of every girl's jealousy. Even I'd had my moments of envy when I saw her huge, dark eyes and long, thick hair. Oh, and her height. I was more on the vertically challenged side of life.

Alec was like Isabelle's shadow. He didn't seem to socialize much; I'd never seen him talk, to be honest. He stayed with his sister for the most part, but when he was away from her he was always by himself. He didn't have a group of doting friends hanging on him, and I'm pretty sure that wasn't because he wasn't good enough for a fan club. He was just as attractive as Isabelle, with blue eyes that would melt the heart of any girl. He just chose to be alone.

I also wasn't clear on how the whole family thing worked. Jace looked nothing like Alec and Isabelle, nor did he have their last name. I assumed he was adopted, although that didn't explain the different surnames. I'd never really cared enough to be curious. Simon, however, who got goo-goo eyes every time Isabelle graced the space near us when she was passing by, was dying to know.

Anyway, long story short, Jace's whole family ruled the school. Isabelle was rumored to throw the best parties in the whole country, though I suspected that was a pretty big exaggeration. I'd also heard that her parties were strictly personal invite only. A nobody like me could never dream to go.

And yet here Jace was, inviting me to go with him. For a second, I had a total lapse of judgment as a part of me imagined myself walking in to Isabelle's beautiful mansion, surrounded by the most popular people in school, with music blasting so loud it filled my whole body and made me feel electrified, alive.

"I'll think about it," I said.

Jace gave me a golden smile, for once devoid of any sneers or smirks, and it was so beautiful it would have threatened to take my breath away if I didn't dislike his perfection so much.

"Great. Hope to see you there," he said with a wink. Then he left, cutting another path through the crowd with his friends scrambling after him.

I was standing in a bubble of space as everyone stared at me. The girls looked at me with expressions that ranged from admiring to jealous to enraged. The guys looked at me with a bit of interest, like they decided I must be worth something if Jace Wayland took the time out of his busy schedule to invite me to his VIP party.

And that was when I realized what I'd just done.

Sure, I hadn't said yes per se. But giving Jace a "maybe" was like giving in. It was like showing him that he could get to me the second he turned his charm on and make me forget that I hated his guts. Now that he was gone, I also remembered that I hated parties, blaring music, and the people that would make up the guest list.

I leaned against my locker for support as the bell rang and my audience finally dispersed to go to their classes. Simon waded through the tide to my side, shaking his head sadly at me.

"Son, I am disappoint," he said.

"Shut up," I answered.

* * *

_If anyone can tell me what Simon's last phrase is in reference to, I will give you a shiny new llama! _

_Thanks for reading!_


	7. Chapter 7

_Whoo hoo! Christmas update! Oh, and I realized after I posted the last chapter that I can't remember where Simon's quote was from (I know it's from a video game, can't remember which one) so llamas for all! :D_

_Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!_

"You're not seriously thinking about going, are you?" Simon demanded as we walked to the diner.

I blew out a breath, puffing out my cheeks. "Simon, I told you. I'd rather hang myself up by my toenails. Do you need a visual demonstration to understand?"

He made a face. "Ew, no. I'm just saying, when he was sweet talking you back there, I thought for sure you were going to say yes."

"I would never say yes!" I exclaimed. "I hate that guy!"

"Admit it, you were considering it," he said accusingly.

I glowered at the ground and kicked a pebble out of my path. I was angry enough with myself for my moment of weakness; I really didn't need Simon hounding me about it, too. "I was just…leading him on," I insisted. "Making him think he's got me hooked. Then I can hit him twice as hard."

Simon just shook his head. "Sometimes I wonder what goes through that little red head of yours." We walked in silence for a while; I was dragging my feet, dreading another unbearably long shift at the diner.

"You know he's not doing it to be nice, right?" Simon said, keeping his eyes ahead. "He doesn't want to make peace with you. He's going to use it as an opportunity to humiliate you again."

I fisted my hands in my pockets and tried not to sound irritated, though I probably did anyway. "Of course, because there's no way anyone would want to hang out with me willingly," I said sarcastically.

He frowned. "You know that's not what I meant. I'm just worried that you're falling for his little trick."

"I'm not falling for anything, okay?" I snapped. "I know he's up to something. I'm not a moron."

Simon winced at my harsh tone, and I instantly felt guilty. I softened my voice a little.

"It doesn't matter anyway. I'm still serving out my sentence for that coffee stunt, remember?" I said, feeling immensely relieved that now there was absolutely no way I could go to the party, no matter what mad whim seized me. "My mom said I have to work from the minute school gets out to closing time."

"Oh yeah, I almost forgot about that." Simon looked satisfied. I rolled my eyes and shoved his arm as we entered the diner, where Mona and my mom were rushing from table to table juggling trays of drinks and food.

"Clary!" my mom yelled, looking quite frazzled. "What took you so long? Did you crawl all the way here?"

"No," I said, offended, even though I _had_ walked pretty slowly.

"Just put on your uniform and get to work!"

I tell you, my mom was no fun to be around when she was stressed. Trying not to scowl like a chastised child, I retrieved my apron and started another painfully long shift.

* * *

Friday at school, Jace would not leave me alone.

"Can't wait to see you tonight," he kept saying, alternating between winking and smiling charmingly at me. I was relieved to find that I didn't go brain dead every time he flashed me his smile. That would have gotten annoying pretty fast.

He never stayed long enough for me to inform him that I wouldn't be going to his stupid party, and after a while, I stopped trying to tell him. I knew he was up to something. Whatever he claimed, this was not a way to shake hands and start over. Jace Wayland and I would never be friends, and if he thought that I expected otherwise, he was very, very wrong.

In the cafeteria, Isabelle Lightwood actually made a public announcement about the party. She was nothing like the whiny, can't-lift-a-finger-at-the-risk-of-breaking-a-nail sort of girls that I'd seen around school. In fact, it would be fair to call her scary. She had a fiery look in her eye and she held herself with absolute confidence. She looked like she could give you a black eye just by looking at you.

"Attention," she said loudly, instantly drawing all eyes to her. She was standing on top of one of the tables, not self-conscious in the least. "Don't forget about my party tonight. Starts at seven at the Pandemonium Club. You don't have an invitation, you don't get in. No forgeries—I'll know." The way she said it was so ominous that I saw a few faces around me blanch. She offered a sweet smile before hopping off the table and sweeping gracefully out of the cafeteria. Her brother Alec silently followed her, forever her shadow.

"Wow," Simon murmured, staring at the doorway she'd just gone through. He had that irritatingly dreamy look in his eye again. "She sure knows how to grab the attention of the people."

"I can't believe you actually like her," I said, annoyed.

Simon instantly snapped out of his daze, his cheeks growing red. "I do not like her!"

"Good. You could do so much better," I told him, even though I doubted he was telling the truth. It was hard to blame him, since any male would have a difficult time resisting that level of beauty, but it was still irritating to see my best friend succumbing to her siren song.

"So," said Simon, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "I've seen Jace approach you more than once today. He really wants you at this party."

I clenched my jaw and glared at him. "You're still worried I'm going to go, aren't you?"

He stood and carried his tray over to the trashcan, leaving me no choice but to follow. He didn't speak again until he'd discarded his leftover food and placed his tray on the stack, leading the way into the hall.

"I think that a part of you loves the idea of being a somebody," Simon finally said.

I stopped in my tracks, gaping at him. "How could you think that? I'm nothing like them and you know it, Simon!"

"I know," he said hastily, holding up his hands as if prepared to fend off my fists—which was looking more and more necessary. "But come on, Clary, all of us want to taste the sweet life at some point, don't we? _I _wouldn't mind bypassing the loser comments and getting tripped in the halls. Life would be a whole lot easier for all of us if we were like everyone else."

I felt totally betrayed. I'd always thought of Simon as a geek and proud of it, but hearing him talk this way…

"But I'm happy this way," he went on firmly, tugging my arm so that I would keep walking alongside him. "Where's the fun in being like everyone else? Being unique is worth the insults."

"Do you really mean that?" I challenged, folding my arms over my chest.

"Absolutely," he said solemnly, holding up his right hand as if swearing an oath. "I, Simon Lewis, do hereby swear that I will never become a somebody, and I will live my life a happy outcast until the day I die."

I couldn't help laughing at that. "Idiot," I said, shoving his arm. He just grinned at me.

"So you aren't going to the party?"

I rolled my eyes. "I am not going to the party," I told him slowly and distinctly as we stopped at my locker. "Besides, I didn't even get an invitation. Jace was probably just hoping to watch me get thrown out by the bouncers. What a photo op that would have been."

As I opened my locker door, a piece of paper fluttered to the ground. Simon and I stood staring at it.

"Looks like you got your invitation," he said flatly.

"I'm sure it's just an old math test," I said, bending down to retrieve it. It turned out to be an envelope containing fancy paper with curling script on the front that read, _You are invited to the 18__th__ birthday bash of Isabelle Lightwood. Meet at the Pandemonium Club at 7:00 p.m. Don't forget your invitation!_

"He really went all out with this, didn't he?" I said faintly, unable to tear my eyes away from the elegant writing.

"This is bad, Clary," said Simon nervously. "He really, really wants you to go to this party. He must have something awful planned."

I opened my mouth to tell him that he could stop fretting about the whole thing since I'd made it _quite clear _I wasn't going, but when I looked up at him I saw genuine concern on his face. He wasn't just trying to keep me from becoming a "somebody"; he was worried that I was in for a humiliation even worse than that terrible night at the diner.

"You're right," I said, ripping the invitation up into shreds and letting them float to the ground. "The party is going to suck anyway."

Simon looked relieved. We walked away from my locker together, with me resisting the urge to look back at the scraps of paper lying on the floor. As much as I hated to admit it, a part of me longed to go, clinging to the unlikely hope that Jace honestly wanted to make peace.

_You'll be grateful you didn't go, _I told myself sternly.

At the time, I didn't know just how right I was.

* * *

_Thanks for all your great reviews! I love hearing your thoughts on the story! _

_Have a wonderful day! _


	8. Chapter 8

_Here it is, folks! The chapter that will make the story take a sharp turn... Thanks for reading and reviewing everyone!_

"Want me to stick around tonight?" Simon offered, twirling around in circles on one of the rotating bar stools.

I carefully placed an array of drinks on the tray, not wanting a reenactment of the other night. Of course, tonight there would be no one to trip me, so it seemed pretty doubtful that I'd go crashing to the floor a second time. I glanced over my shoulder at Simon and rolled my eyes.

"And have you taking up all the room and distracting me from my work?" I pretended to think about it. "On second thought, stay as long as you want."

Simon grinned, twisting his head back and forth as he tried to keep me in sight while his body spun in circles. "Distractions are my forte."

"I know."

To tell the truth, I was in pretty high spirits. My punishment for dumping coffee on Jace and then running out into the streets of New York City was nearly over, and I was dying for some free time to draw. Tonight had been pretty slow, since most of the teenage customers we got were at Isabelle's party, or at least trying to sneak in.

But the best part of all was that Jace wasn't here tonight. I hadn't really noticed how much I dreaded having to see him at work until he was gone. It was like a breath of fresh air; everything seemed so peaceful without his friends' raucous laughter erupting every half a second.

I delivered the drinks to a table full of middle-aged women who were laughing so hard tears were trailing down their cheeks. Simon was snickering as I walked back over to him, imitating one of the women who was smacking the table as she guffawed.

"Stop," I said, slapping his hands down. "You're being rude."

"What? They aren't paying any attention."

I stuck my tongue out at him and he mirrored the action. The place was almost empty by now—it was near closing time, and it was completely dark outside. Well, as dark as it ever gets in New York City.

"Clary," Mona called. She was talking to Chef Timothy, her head poking into the kitchen through the serving window. "Garbage's full."

"Can't you take it out?" I asked without much hope.

"Took it out last time," she said, before growing bored of the conversation and turning back to a sullen Chef Timothy, who looked like he was considering lopping off his own hand with his butcher's knife rather than continue listening to her drone on about her romance problems.

I stared down at the overflowing garbage can. I hated taking the garbage out to the Dumpster in the alley behind the diner; it creeped me out, especially at night. It always felt like the shadows were concealing murderers and monsters, making the back of my neck prickle. Sometimes I could swear I was being watched.

"Simon," I said, turning on my sweetest, most syrupy tone of voice. "Have I told you that I love you lately?"

"Nope," Simon said. He looked thoughtfully at the ceiling. "In fact, I don't think I recall you ever having said that."

"Well, I do," I told him. "Very much. You're my best friend in the entire world, and you always will be."

He smiled at me and put a hand to his chest, touched. "Clary, I think that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me. Well, aside from when you told me I had some broccoli stuck in my teeth. That was pretty nice, too."

"I appreciate you," I went on, beaming at him. "If not for you, I don't know where I'd be. Maybe I'd be at that horrible party, getting myself humiliated by Wayland. It's because of you that I'm the person I am today."

"That's kind of you," he said warmly. "But I'm still not going to take out the trash for you, Clary."

I scowled and slapped his shoulder. "That's not the reason I said those things!"

"Oh, please. You're a terrible actress, Clary."

I snorted and stormed back to the trashcan, swinging the bulging bag of garbage over my shoulder with more violence than was wise. Simon had to duck to avoid getting clocked in the head—I wished I hadn't missed.

I shouldered past Mona so that I could get into the kitchen, passing through it and out the back door. The resounding laughter of the middle-aged women and Mona's unending chatter cut off abruptly as the steel door closed behind me. The alley was always eerily quiet, with only the distant sounds of traffic to chase away complete silence.

I hummed to myself, thinking it would make the whole scene a little less creepy. Then it occurred to me that you see a lot of murder victims humming to themselves in scary movies just before they're killed, so I stopped that pretty quickly.

I hurried over to the Dumpster, which was near the mouth of the alley. Not only was the hair on the back of my neck rising, but so was the hair on my arms and scalp, too. It was probably my overactive imagination, but I thought I could see shapes moving in the shadows, glowing eyes watching my every move.

I opened the Dumpster cover, grunting as I held it with one hand and tossed the garbage bag in with the other. It landed with a hollow thud at the bottom. I released the cover and it shut with a resounding bang, making me cringe. I really didn't need to be making noise in this dark, horror-movie alleyway.

That was when I heard the sound.

At first I thought it was a cat—maybe a dying one. I froze, my heart racing in my chest, listening hard. It came again, and I realized it was a groan. A human groan.

Something moved in the shadows—and it wasn't just my imagination this time. My eyes darted to the door that led back into the diner, wondering if I could make it there if I ran as fast as my legs could possibly carry me.

Too late. A figure stumbled into the dim light cast by the neon sign across the street, coming from the direction of the mouth of the alley. I instinctively backed away, my back hitting the wall. The man—no woman could make that sound—staggered and nearly fell, barely avoiding a faceplant on the ground.

"Stay away from me," I managed to get out. I'd meant to sound harsh and commanding, but I stuttered out the words in a shaky voice.

The man mumbled something and I inched in the direction of the door, still pressed against the side of the alley.

"I know karate," I lied. "My friend is just inside—he'll hear me when I scream. I have 911 on speed dial on my cell phone. I'm calling it right now." Probably not the smartest threat, seeing as how I didn't have a cell phone in my hand, but I was hoping it was too dark for him to see that. I held my hand up to my ear, petrified as the guy came even closer.

His garbled noises turned into slurred words. "Thought I'd find you here," he said, and I recognized the voice, muddled as it was. I looked closer as he stumbled into brighter light, and instantly felt a rushing mixture of intense relief, shock, and fury.

"Jace?" I said. "You scared the crap out of me! What the hell are you doing back here? What's the matter with you?"

He was swaying so badly on his feet that I knew he was about to fall down at any second. He was completely wasted.

"You're not s'posed to be here," he slurred. "You're s'posed to be at the party. You were s'posed to come so we could get you back. That'll show you." He laughed and staggered. I darted forward without thinking and caught him around the waist before he could tumble sideways. His shirt was wet, and he smelled strongly of alcohol—and something else.

"Gee, thanks," I muttered, knowing it was useless to be angry with him when he was this drunk. I pushed away the hurt I felt at discovering that Simon had been right all along; Jace hadn't invited me to the party out of friendliness. He'd just wanted another opportunity to ruin my life.

He was standing strangely, hunched over with one hand around his stomach like he felt sick. In the faint light, I could see that his face was paper white, and his breathing was fast and shallow.

Something was wrong. He sagged against me, his legs giving out, and I had to stagger a few steps sideways, lowering him awkwardly to the ground.

"Jace? Can you hear me?" I shook his shoulder. His eyelids fluttered. His white shirt was dark—not with spilled alcohol, but with something else.

Blood.

My heart started pounding again. I lifted his shirt to find his stomach covered in the dark, oozing substance. For a second nausea rose inside of me, but I pushed it down. This was not the time to be squeamish.

"Oh no," I whispered. "Jace, how did this happen? You're hurt!"

"Got in a fight," he slurred, barely conscious. "Pulled a knife on me."

"I need to call an ambulance." My hands shook so badly that I had to fumble in my pocket for my cell phone for several agonizing seconds. When I finally managed to extract it, it slipped out of my hand and fell to the ground with a clatter.

His hand shot up and he wrapped his fingers around my wrist, stopping me from reaching for the phone and holding on with startling strength for his condition.

"What are you doing?" I demanded, trying to yank my hand away.

"Can't call police," he mumbled. "Everyone'll get busted for drinking."

I stared at him in disbelief. He could be dying, and he was worried about everyone back at the party getting in trouble for underage drinking? Was he nuts?

"You aren't thinking clearly," I told him, snatching up the phone with my other hand. "This is bad, Jace. You need to go to a hospital."

"No," he said more forcefully, his eyes opening wider. His voice turned pleading. "Please, Clary."

"What the hell do you want me to do?" I snapped, my voice inching a few octaves higher. "Do you want me to just leave you to bleed to death behind my mom's diner? Not going to happen!"

He moaned as I punched in three numbers and held the phone to my ear. A part of me had a feeling that this would only bring on more revenge from Jace and his buddies, and that filled me with a deep sense of dread. He'd already admitted that they'd been planning on humiliating me at the party. If I turned them all in now, it was just going to get worse.

But I didn't have a choice. I'd rather be humiliated a million times over than watch someone die in front of me, knowing I could have done something, and knowing that I'd failed.

It might not have been a good idea to move Jace, but I couldn't stand being in that alley a second longer, so as we waited for an ambulance I managed to get him to his feet and, wrapping both arms around his waist, I half dragged him out of the alley and to the edge of the street. It was pretty much a Herculean show of strength, since he was hardly conscious and I might as well have been giving him a piggyback ride. He was probably over six feet tall and I was not much more than five, so I looked back on that moment with pride. I was stronger than I thought.

The ambulance showed up only a few minutes later, sirens wailing. Cop cars followed, and I thought I heard Jace groan with exasperation, but I was too busy trying to keep him from falling over to look over and make sure.

The paramedics took him off my hands and got him onto a stretcher, rushing him into the back of the ambulance. To my surprise, they ushered me on, too, letting me ride in the back with him. I'd expected to see him off and then return to the diner and pretend nothing had happened. My mom definitely did not need to hear about this.

Before I could protest, though, they'd closed the doors and the vehicle was already moving. I found myself staring at Jace's face, his eyes closed, looking unusually vulnerable. A paramedic sat across from me, strapping an oxygen mask to his face. He looked up at me sympathetically.

"He'll be all right, honey," he said. I had the urge to tell him that I didn't care, seeing as I hated the guy, but somehow I didn't think it would be appropriate. So I just nodded numbly and stared at Jace.

"You're very brave," the paramedic went on, and I wished he wouldn't try to engage me in conversation. I wondered if I was going into shock; I felt sort of numb, and my thoughts were sluggish. It wasn't like I'd ever been faced with this situation before, and especially not to someone I knew. "I can't think of any other teenagers who would help their boyfriend out the way you did. You were practically carrying him back there."

My head snapped up. "He's not my boyfriend," I said, maybe too sharply. The paramedic looked taken aback.

But it didn't shut him up. "That's even braver then. You must be a great friend. You could even be called a hero." Then he gave me a smile like he expected me to be flattered by the compliment, but I didn't want to be a hero under these circumstances. I wished tonight hadn't happened at all.

* * *

_Will Jace survive?! Probably! But you never know... (Cue ominous music) _

_Please leave a review and tell me what you thought! _


	9. Chapter 9

As we rushed to the hospital in the ambulance, sirens blaring, I couldn't help looking at Jace and feeling deep fear seep through me. No matter how much of a jerk he was, or how much I liked to fantasize about him dropping off the face of the earth, I didn't really want him to die.

We arrived at the hospital and they got him out of the ambulance faster than I would have thought possible. The paramedic who kept talking to me helped me out, too, taking me inside and sitting me down in a chair. "You can wait here for news about your friend," he told me, and left.

I sat there and stared at the wall, thinking of absolutely nothing. My mind was blank. It was dangerous to think about stuff here anyway. If I thought too hard, I might remember when I'd broken my arm falling off my bike and had to get very painful surgery in this very hospital. Or, even worse, I might remember when my mom had taken me here to say goodbye to my grandfather, who died while we stood at his bedside. It's easy to associate hospitals with pain.

I don't know why I stayed there. I could have just gone home and taken myself out of the equation—I didn't want to get attention for this. I wanted to disappear and pretend like I wasn't a part of this fiasco at all. But something made me stay. I wasn't sure if it was a need to know if Jace had survived or if I just couldn't find the will to move. Either way, I sat in that chair for hours.

Finally, a nurse came into the waiting room and called, "Clary Fray?"

"Right here," I croaked, my voice hoarse from disuse.

"You're here for Jonathon Wayland, aren't you?"

My stomach constricted into knots and I balled my hands up into fists. I was fully prepared for her to give me a pitying look and say, _I'm so sorry, but your friend didn't make it. _

Instead she gave me a warm, if not slightly weary smile and said, "He's out of surgery and he's stabalized. You can go in and see him if you like, though he's under pretty deep."

"Um—I—" I stammered, but before I could tell her that I'd rather just go home, she took my arm, hauled me to my feet, and steered me through a set of doors into a white hallway.

"Luckily the wound wasn't very deep," she chattered. "It might have been fatal if you hadn't been with him, though. It didn't do too much damage to any vital organs, but he lost quite a bit of blood and would have lost much more if you hadn't saved his life." And then she beamed at me like a proud grandmother, and I felt sick. I didn't save his life—the doctors did that. I was just sitting in a chair waiting for something to happen for almost three hours.

It might sound stupid, but I wasn't interested in checking in on Jace, even if I had just spent the majority of the night waiting to see if he was going to die. I was exhausted, and I knew I was going to be grounded for sure, even though my mom normally isn't the grounding type. It had to be after midnight, which was definitely past my curfew. Simon was probably in a panic, seeing as how I never returned from taking out the garbage, and the last place I was known to be was in a dark alley. Staying here any longer would just make things worse for me, but I didn't know how to tell this nurse that. So I let her force me into a private room with beeping monitors and that trademark hospital smell.

Jace was lying in a bed hooked up to a lot of machinery. His face was pale and his eyelids looked bluish. His breathing was deep and even, though, and his heart monitor beeped steadily. Looked like he really would be okay.

"Is his family here?" I asked the nurse as I hovered awkwardly by the door.

"We've been calling," she said with a frown. "But we haven't been able to reach them."

I wondered if Jace's parents had gone to chaperone all the guests or if they were out of town, which would explain why there'd been alcohol at the party. Or maybe they just didn't care what their children got into.

The nurse looked at me with big eyes. "Would you happen to know where they might be, dear? We really need to get a hold of them and tell them what's happened."

I opened my mouth to tell her about the party and to condemn all of Isabelle's guests to being caught in the act of underage drinking, but instead five words I had no intention of saying slipped out. "I have no idea, sorry."

The nurse nodded and patted my shoulder sympathetically. "You just sit down over there. Maybe he'll wake up soon." And she bustled out of the room, leaving me to wonder why the hell I'd just said that.

I stayed by the door, as far away from Jace as possible. I was terrified that he _would _wake up—wake up to find me sitting by his bed like a concerned friend would be. I was hoping that I could escape before he ever had to notice I was here; maybe, since he'd been so drunk when he'd shown up behind the diner, he wouldn't even remember my involvement.

Unless, of course, that overly helpful nurse told him that a small, redheaded girl named Clary Fray had "saved his life". I scowled at my feet, wishing I hadn't given them my name when we'd reached the hospital.

I edged closer to his bed to get a better look at him. His usually perfectly tousled golden hair was genuinely messy for once, sticking up in all kinds of directions and probably crushed in the back from lying on his pillow. I'd never seen Jace as anything less than perfect before, so I couldn't help drifting closer out of pure curiosity.

I wished it wasn't so quiet in the small room, the only sound being the beeping of the heart monitor and Jace's steady breaths. It gave me too much room to think. _Why didn't I tell that nurse about the party? _I wondered. It wasn't like it would do any good to protect them. Surely the doctors had noticed the alcohol content in Jace's bloodstream, so it couldn't be a secret.

I was so tired I felt like I was going to pass out, so I sank down into the chair at Jace's bedside just to make sure I didn't take a trip to the floor. I glared at him, because this whole thing was Jace's fault. It was his fault that he'd gotten in a drunken fight and nearly been stabbed to death, his fault that he'd shown up at my mom's diner just to tell me that I was supposed to have come to his party, and his fault that I was going to be in more trouble than I'd ever been in my life when I got home.

"I don't know why I'm covering for you, either," I said out loud. Talking helped fill the silence in the room. "It's not like any of this is my problem. I could have just left you on the side of the road for the ambulance to pick up, and never gotten involved at all. In fact, I could have just left you in that alley; I didn't have to call 911. You were going to do something awful to me at that party, weren't you? I knew you would never invite me out of the kindness of your heart." I shook my head, fisting my hands on my knees. "Simon was right. There's nothing good about you."

Jace made a noise then, a noise that sounded suspiciously like the word, "Ouch." It made me jump out of my chair and back quickly toward the door. If he was waking up, I wasn't going to be there when it happened.

I closed the door quietly behind me, relieved to be out of there. I turned around to find myself face to face with a police officer.

"Clary Fray?" he asked, his dark eyes surveying me almost critically, like he couldn't believe I was the girl he was looking for.

I swallowed and decided lying to a cop about my identity was not in my best interests. "Yes?"

"Would you come with me? We have a few questions for you," he said, indicating that I would have to deal with more than one officer tonight.

Wanting to cry with frustration, I nodded and followed him back down the hall. The last thing I needed was to be interrogated by the police force.

My mom was going to string me up by my thumbs when this was over.

* * *

"So." The cop flipped through a stack of papers in his hands, looking them over for what was probably the third time.

I bit my lip to keep from snapping at him. He'd been looking through those papers and saying "so" over and over again for the past five minutes, and I was losing patience. I was in a terrible mood, more tired than I could remember ever being in my life, and hating this hospital more and more as time went on.

One of the doctors had lent the cops—there were two of them—his office for my interrogation. They assured me that they were just asking standard procedure questions, but I was pretty sure they had jotted me down as a suspect for Jace's stabbing. Which was not a good thing.

"Excuse me, sir," I said in the polite voice I reserved for adults. "My mother doesn't know I'm here with my friend, and I'm sure she's worried sick." I decided it was best to refer to Jace as my friend; maybe they'd stop thinking that I stabbed him in the gut.

One of the cops, who had thick eyebrows, a mole on the side of his nose, and was clearly in a foul mood, folded his thick arms across his chest. "No need to worry," he said in a gravelly voice. "The hospital took the liberty of phoning your mother. She's on her way now."

My heart sank even further. The last thing I needed was my mom bursting in and making a big scene for the whole hospital to witness.

"She should be here any time," the other cop added, who was younger than the other guy and had light brown hair and a round face. "But first, we have to—"

"Ask me some questions," I said with an edge to my voice. "I know."

They exchanged a glance, one of those "we've got a troublemaker on our hands" looks. I silently cursed myself for being snippy; the sweeter and more innocent I seemed, the faster I'd be able to get out of there.

"So, Miss Fray," the officer with the papers and the mole on his nose—I mentally decided to call him Mole Cop—said. If he said "so" one more time… "You were the one that found Mr. Wayland and phoned the police, correct?"

"Yes," I said. I didn't offer any other information from there.

"Where did you find him, and what condition was he in when you did?"

"In the alley behind my mother's diner. He was…not himself," I said, fumbling over the words. I didn't really want to admit that he'd been almost too drunk to walk—although that might have been the knife wound's work, too.

"Elaborate on what you mean by 'not himself,'" the younger cop said.

"He was staggering around, hunched over and making weird faces," I said, which wasn't a lie at all. "I was concerned, so I went over and helped him sit down. That was when I noticed the injury."

"Why were you in the alley behind your mother's diner?" Mole Cop asked, eyeing me with poorly concealed suspicion.

"I was taking the trash out to the Dumpster behind the diner," I told him without missing a beat. He didn't look appeased.

"And why was _he _in the alley behind your mother's diner?" he responded.

That was another tricky question to answer. "He was there to see me," I said, looking down at my lap. "I'm not entirely sure why."

"Was there anyone else with him?" Young Cop asked. "Someone helping him, or someone that might have been responsible for the wound?"

"No."

"Did he say who stabbed him?"

"No. He said something like 'got in a fight, pulled a knife on me.'"

Mole Cop scribbled something in his notes. I twisted my fingers nervously together, only to realize that they might take fidgeting as a sign of guilt, so I forced my fingers to smooth out and rest normally on my knees.

"I see. You look tired, Miss Fray," Young Cop, who by far seemed the nicer of the two, said kindly. "We'll leave off for there."

Mole Cop grunted and shot his colleague a disapproving look, which went ignored.

"We'll be in touch. Call us if you remember anything else." Then the two of them got up and left. I sat in the office chair a minute longer before getting up and following them.

Just as I feared, a nightmare waited for me in the front room. My mother was all but shouting at the poor, flustered receptionist, demanding to see me, seemingly on the brink of hysteria. The receptionist just sat there and took the shouting, not bothering to offer up a response that clearly wasn't wanted.

Then my mom happened to glance in my direction; she did a double take, her eyes nearly bugging out of her head, and made a beeline for me. I could understand her alarm—I realized that I was a terrible mess. My hair had dissolved into pure tangles, and my clothes were covered in Jace's blood. It was enough to give any mother a heart spasm. She actually started running halfway across the room. She hit me hard and, instead of smacking me upside the head, hugged me close and covered my face with kisses.

"Clary," she said in a quiet voice that trembled ever so slightly. "I was so _worried." _

"Sorry, Mom," I said, leaning into her. I hoped she kept up this joyful reunion for the rest of the night and waited until morning to get to the "I'm furious with you" part. I was far too tired to keep up with an argument.

"When they called me and told me you were at the hospital," she went on, sounding a little teary, "I thought you'd gotten mugged or attacked, and I nearly had a heart attack—"

"I'm fine," I assured her. "Someone else got hurt. They're okay, too."

"They told me you saved someone," my mom said, looking at me with a mixture of disbelief and wonder. "Is that true?"

"No," I said flatly. "There was someone who got hurt behind the diner. I just called the police. That's hardly saving a life."

"Why didn't you call?" My mom had already moved on from the revelation that I was a possible hero, which was fine by me. Except now she was starting to get angry. "Why didn't you tell Simon where you were going, or Timothy or Mona? You just left!"

"I wasn't going to get in the ambulance, Mom," I said wearily. "The paramedics sort of ushered me on, and I didn't have time to tell them I couldn't go to the hospital. They thought I was his friend or something."

"What about calling?" she exclaimed.

"I was busy," I lied, thinking that I should have called her during that two and a half hour long wait when Jace was in surgery. "I didn't even think about calling you."

"You scared all of us to death," she said angrily. "Simon calls me in a panic saying you disappeared, and we go out looking for you, and just when I'm about to get the police involved the hospital calls and says that you've been here all night! What am I supposed to think?"

"Can we not do this here?"

My mom opened her mouth, and I was certain she was going to say that it couldn't wait and I had to be shouted at in the middle of the hospital, but maybe something in my face changed her mind. She nodded once and said, "We'll discuss it later."

I was beyond relieved, and grateful. I knew it was hard for my mom to swallow the things she had to say, but she did it for my benefit, seeing my exhaustion. It was a glimmer of the pre-diner mom that I'd been missing so desperately for the past few years.

It was then that Mole Cop joined us, looking tired and a little grouchy. "Ms. Fray?" he said to my mom, giving her a smile that was probably meant to be charming but turned out a little limp.

"What?" she said a little testily, then seemed to realize who she was talking to and tried again, clearing her throat sheepishly. "Er, yes?"

"Could we ask you a few questions regarding the events that happened tonight?"

She gave him a funny look. "I don't know anything about what happened. I wasn't there."

Mole Cop's grimace-smile faded. "Still, we need some background information on your daughter," he said, having no choice but to reveal his true motives. My stomach clenched sickeningly as I pictured them telling my mom that I was a suspect in a stabbing incident. That was the last thing I wanted.

Could this night get any worse?

* * *

_Thanks for reading, and for leaving reviews! They make my day! _


	10. Chapter 10

My mom narrowed her eyes at Mole Cop and for a second I hoped she would just grab my arm and drag me right out through the doors without another word, but she nodded curtly and followed him toward the office where my interrogation had taken place.

I had no choice but to resume sitting in the waiting room that I honestly hoped I would never see again after this, while I waited for my mom to be questioned on whether or not I had shown sadistic and/or stabbing tendencies in my childhood.

Trying to ignore the stare of the receptionist, I took my phone out of my pocket and looked through bleary eyes at the dozens, maybe hundreds, of missed calls, voicemails, and text messages, which consisted mostly of _WHERE R U? ANSWER UR PHONE! _from my mom, Simon, and, in a lesser scale, my mom's good-friend-hopefully-someday-boyfriend, Luke.

Sighing, I called Simon, knowing that putting it off would just put me in more trouble with him. I was relieved he hadn't come to the hospital with my mom; I didn't need two people chewing me out.

"Clary?" He picked up halfway through the first ring, his voice frantic. "Are you all right? What happened? Why weren't you picking up your phone?"

"I'm fine," I assured him, stifling a yawn of exhaustion. "Really." I didn't feel much like answering his other questions. I'd recounted the night's events enough for one hour.

"Were you trying to scare me into an early grave?" he yelled. I held the phone resignedly away from my ear so as not to deafen myself. "One second you were taking the garbage out, and then you didn't come back in, and when I went out to check on you I found a puddle of blood and an empty alley!"

Huh. I hadn't thought about the blood Jace would have left behind, or what assumptions that would lead everyone else to make about my disappearance. I was really beginning to feel awful about my carelessness. How would I like it if Simon or my mom had vanished without warning, leaving nothing but a bloody stain behind? And on top of all that, not answering their phone? I cursed myself for putting it on silent when I got in the ambulance. I just assumed that was hospital protocol.

"I'm so sorry," I said, putting as much sincerity behind the words as I could. "I didn't even think about that. My mind was elsewhere." _On the fact that my classmate was bleeding to death, _I added silently, but that would just invoke more questions that I really didn't have the energy to answer.

Simon's breathing was heavy on the other line. It sounded like he'd spent the night hyperventilating. And all this time I'd been sitting in the waiting room of a hospital, feeling sorry for myself and convinced that I'd had the worst night in all of New York City. But it sounded like Simon and my mom had had it a lot harder than me tonight.

After apologizing to Simon at least a dozen more times and assuring him that I'd go see him first thing in the morning—first thing being sometime in the late afternoon, since I intended to sleep away my Saturday after tonight—I finally managed to hang up, only to get a call from Luke about a minute later.

Sighing, I went through the same process with him. It was a little easier, since Luke wasn't shouting, although he did stress that I should never, ever do that to them again, and that I'd scared the life out of him. Everyone seemed to be saying that tonight. At least, once he had gotten through his lecture, he showed the right amount of concern, and even expressed his sympathy for me that I had to deal with my mom's wrath, which would be all the more horrific because she had gotten absolutely no sleep.

Well, she could join the club. Maybe we could get matching monogrammed jackets.

I must have dozed off in the chair, because I jolted awake when someone touched my shoulder. I rubbed my aching eyes and looked up, expecting to see my mom, but instead it was that same nurse from before. She was beaming again, which I took to be a bad sign.

"Your friend just woke up," she told me. "We thought you'd like to see him before you left."

I cast a panicked look down the hall where my mom had disappeared with Mole Cop. The door was still closed. I wasn't sure how long I'd been asleep for, or why the questioning was taking so long. Surely they had more to ask me than her? Or maybe they really were interested about my past criminal record.

"But it's not visiting hours," I spluttered, grasping at straws. "And he's probably tired. He won't want to talk to anyone."

"This is an exception," she said, successfully waving both of my excuses away with one simple sentence. She grabbed my hand and dragged me to my feet against my will, ushering me through the doors into the patient quarters.

"I think I'll come back and visit him another time," I protested weakly. "My mom's probably wrapping up with Mole—um, the police officer, and she probably wants to get home—"

"Oh, they've been in there for ages," she said dismissively. "Shouting sometimes, so I assume they've gotten a little tangled up in their disagreements. These things always take a while to sort out." She gave me a sympathetic look that I didn't want. For how nice this lady was, she was really starting to get on my nerves.

Ignoring the rest of my pathetic objections, the nurse opened the door to Jace's room and all but shoved me inside, closing the door behind me.

I turned and reached for the door handle, hoping that if I was fast enough I could escape without him recognizing me. But it's hard not to recognize hair like mine, coupled with the shortness.

"Fray?" His voice was hoarse and almost as slurred as when he'd been drunk, though I suspected it was now a result of pain medication. I cringed and slowly turned around to face his bed.

His eyes, bloodshot and red-rimmed, stared at me from behind half-closed lids. He looked awful—haggard and weak and, despite the medication, in pain.

"Hey," I said, waggling my fingertips in a meek wave and keeping my distance.

"What are you doing here?" he mumbled, his eyes closing in a blink and taking a long time to open again.

"Oh, uh…I'm not here," I said, without really thinking. "This is a dream."

Jace's brow furrowed. "A dream?"

"Yeah. Soon you'll wake up and realize I was never here at all."

He let out a long sigh that definitely sounded exasperated. "I may be out of it, Fray, but I'm not _that _out of it."

My cheeks flamed. Maybe I shouldn't have tried pulling the dream card. That only worked in cartoons, after all.

"You came all this way just to make sure I was okay?" His eyes were closing again. He was probably barely aware of what he was saying, but I was. "Good to know you care."

"I don't," I snapped, which only made him smirk—a limp, tired smirk, but still one nevertheless. I had to admit, the evidence didn't really back me up. "I mean—I'm only here because I'm being interrogated by the cops. My mom's with them now." A second too late, I realized that might not have been the best excuse to give him.

He gave a short, breathy laugh that made him wince. "Why are you in trouble with the law, Fray? Were you the one that pulled a knife on me?"

"Of course not!" I cried, afraid that someone was watching through a hidden camera or something and would take this as a confirmation of my guilt. "Are you insane?"

"Nope. Just hopped up on drugs," he answered dreamily.

I scowled and didn't justify that with a response.

"Why _are _you here?" he asked, opening his bloodshot, golden eyes wide and looking at me with something close to clarity. "Don't tell me it's just a coincidence, 'cause I won't believe you."

I folded my arms over my chest. "So you don't remember anything that happened?"

"Nope." He popped his lips on the P, coming across as very indifferent about the whole thing. It annoyed me to no end. "Memories'll probably come back eventually, but right now I'm happy to be floating off in Wonko Land."

"That didn't make any sense."

"Does that bother you?"

"Does what?"

"The fact that I'm not making any sense."

"Yes," I muttered, because his doped-up attitude really was getting on my nerves.

"Then maybe you should leave," he suggested, closing his eyes. "Your ugliness is putting a real damper on my drug-induced bliss, Gingerbread."

I'm still not entirely sure why that hurt. He'd been taunting and teasing me since the day we'd met, not to mention called me Gingerbread hundreds of times, and names that were a lot worse, too. But never could I remember him actually calling me ugly. Or maybe the ugly comment had nothing to do with the sharp sting I felt—maybe it was the fact that, as much as I denied it, I had played a part in saving his life, and he was thanking me by calling me ugly and using a nickname he knew I despised.

Still, it shouldn't have bothered me. He probably didn't even know what he was saying, let alone mean it. That didn't really make me feel better, though.

I flung the door open and stormed out, barely remembering in time that this was a hospital and slamming the door as hard as I could would probably be frowned upon. I managed to shut it quietly and then walked back down the hall, full of fury and, yes, hurt.

Once I got out into the waiting room, I was relieved to see my mom standing near the exit, looking agitated and edgy. Mole Cop was muttering to his colleague, red-faced and distinctly angry. Maybe I should have warned him that it was unwise to offend my mother in any way—and that included her offspring as well.

She spotted me coming toward her and opened her mouth to say something, but I cut her off before she could.

"I'm ready to go home," I said, walking right past her and out the sliding doors of the hospital. She followed me silently, which surprised me; maybe she could sense how angry I was. Or maybe she could just tell from the furious expression on my face.

We took a taxi back to our apartment. I stared out the window, my arms crossed tightly over my chest. Neither of us said a word. Maybe my mom had finally gained an appreciation for keeping private matters private, because she didn't start lecturing me in front of the taxi driver.

Almost before the taxi came to a complete stop, I was out of the car and up the apartment steps, into the building. My mom followed me, digging out the key to let us into our apartment. Once we were inside, I flopped down in a chair, waiting for the onslaught.

My mom went and stood in front of me, hands on her hips. She didn't say anything—just looked at me.

"Well?" I said grumpily. "Aren't you going to yell at me?"

"I talked with the police officer," she said, her voice surprisingly soft and non-aggressive.

"And?" My heart started beating just a little bit faster as I waited for her to tell me that I was a prime suspect for assault.

But she only wrinkled her nose and said, "He was a real jerk off."

Considering the night I'd just had, nothing should have been funny to me, but the way she said it, with such utter disdain, made me start to chuckle, and it only escalated from there until I was in fits. My mom stared at me like she thought I might have snapped, but then she started laughing too.

Laughter heals everything. A big part of it for both of us was probably that if we hadn't laughed, we would have cried, and that would have been a whole lot worse. After our hysterics had subsided, she told me I could go take a shower and then get some rest. She didn't even yell it.

Too tired to dwell on my tangled thoughts, I threw my bloody and probably ruined clothes in the corner of my room, showered, changed into pajamas, and crawled into bed, where I fell asleep instantaneously, without another thought about Jace Wayland.

* * *

_Thankee everyone for reading and reviewing! _


	11. Chapter 11

_Thanks for all your lovely reviews, and thanks so much for reading! _

I didn't sleep for nearly as long as I'd hoped.

In fact, when I lifted my head and looked at my alarm clock, I almost thought that the power must have gone out sometime during the night and thrown all the electronics out of whack, because it couldn't possibly be 8:30 a.m. I'd gotten to sleep at around 3 a.m., so this was ridiculously early. In fact, I slept later than this when I hadn't been through a traumatic ordeal and been awake over half the night.

And I couldn't even roll over and go back so sleep, because the moment I became conscious, my head was hit with a deluge of memories, thoughts, and feelings. A lot of them were centered around annoyance and anger, directed mostly at Jace Wayland. His words from the hospital kept replaying in my head, making me feel like my skin was burning. Eventually I gave up on trying to sleep and dragged myself out of bed, emerging into a Saturday morning.

Honestly, I don't think I'd ever been awake to see that time of day on a Saturday before. It was a little disorienting. My mom was already gone for work. I found a note from her on the refrigerator that read, _You don't have to come into work today. We'll talk later. –Mom_

_We'll talk later _sounded ominous to me, but I guess I couldn't have hoped that our laughing fit last night would make everything all better. It had certainly improved things, though.

Now I just needed to think up a really clever joke for Simon.

I didn't want to stay in the house, so I walked over to Simon's apartment. Only when I was standing outside his building did it occur to me that he was a late sleeper, too, and likely wouldn't be up till roughly nine in the evening. Waking him up and making him extremely grumpy would not help the three-hour-long explosion he probably had planned for me. But I was already here, and I had promised to come first thing in the morning, so I buzzed up to let his mom know I wanted in.

When I reached his door, his mom flung it open before I could knock and pulled me into an unexpected hug. "Oh, Clary, we were all so worried!"

I was getting tired of hearing that. I gave her a smile, knowing I probably looked as bad as I had last night—minus the bloody clothes, at least—which made my next response all the more unbelievable. "I'm fine, Mrs. Lewis. Thanks for your concern."

"Simon's asleep in his room," she said. "I could go and get him for you. You just take a seat right there and I'll—"

"That's all right," I said quickly, not wanting her to fuss over me. I just needed normality, not special treatment. "I'll go and wake him up. I'm a professional." I strode down the hall to his bedroom, thought about knocking, and then decided it was pointless and let myself in.

Simon was sprawled across his bed, one foot hanging off the edge. He'd fallen asleep in his clothes, and his glasses were askew on his face. He looked so blissfully peaceful in his sleep—too bad it would be spoiled the second he opened his eyes to find me standing there. The peace would turn to rage pretty quickly after that.

I considered just making myself comfortable and letting him sleep, but he was bound to find out, and it would piss him off to learn that I'd been sitting on his floor watching him. Not only was that creepy, but it would be a waste of valuable time he'd probably set aside to scream at me.

I reached over and gently removed his glasses, placing them on his bedside table. Sure, it might have looked like a tender gesture, but it was mainly a precaution—if he couldn't see, he couldn't take a swing at me.

Taking a deep yoga breath to brace myself, I shook his shoulder timidly. He let out a muffled little snort and buried his face in his pillow.

"Simon," I hissed, not quite sure why I was whispering. "Wake up."

He mumbled something that I couldn't make out and one of his hands came up to flap weakly at me, trying to fend me off.

"You asked for it." I jabbed my fingers into his sides. Sometimes Simon can be stubborn and extremely hard to persuade, but he cannot stand for long under the ancient torture of tickling. It is one of his gravest weaknesses.

Just as I suspected, he bolted straight up in bed with a shocked cry, his head whipping back and forth to see who had just assaulted him in his own bed. He squinted at me, one hand groping for his glasses on the bedside table. By the time he'd shoved them on his face, he had to have already known who I was. Hard to miss the bright red hair, even when you're almost legally blind.

I expected his face to turn red and for him to leap to his feet and start gesturing passionately with his hands, as he always did when giving a really good lecture. But instead he just folded his arms across his chest and fixed me with an appraising look.

"Are you okay?" I asked, studying him with worry. "You do know this isn't a dream, right?" I waved my hand in front of his face. "I'm actually here. Feel free to get it all out of your system."

"I'm not going to yell at you," Simon said. He snorted at my surprised expression. "I want to hear what happened last night. All of it," he added. "No leaving anything out."

Too relieved and grateful to him for not drilling into me, I readily relayed everything about last night. At the beginning, when I mentioned Jace, his face darkened, which prompted me to skip over the part where he mentioned that he was "supposed to get me back" at the party. I felt a little guilty about that, having promised to tell him everything, but I didn't think I needed to give Simon a reason to hate Jace even more.

I hated him enough for both of us.

I also may have skipped over the part about how the police may or may not suspect me of being the one responsible for wounding Jace. It seemed like too much to take in so early on a Saturday.

"Why didn't you call?" he asked once I'd finished with the story. He looked hurt, which made me feel even worse. "Didn't it occur to you that we were freaking out, because you suddenly dropped off the face of the earth?"

I studied my hands, my face hot with shame. "It really didn't," I said honestly. "I was so exhausted and scared and confused and…" I shook my head ruefully. "Guess it's useless to give excuses. I should have called."

He was silent for so long that I had to peek at his expression. "Are you going to start screaming yet?"

"No," he said wearily, slumping against his pillows. "It's too early to scream." He rubbed his hands vigorously over his face. "Why did you come so early anyway? What time is it?" He caught sight of the clock and groaned. "Clary, you're going to be the death of me."

I laughed, and even though it came out sounding a little choked, it made him smile, and I could feel the slight frigidity that had lingered in the room melt away.

As soon as we emerged from his room, his mom dragged us to the table and nearly force fed us scrambled eggs and bacon. She seemed delighted that Simon was up early enough to eat breakfast; he didn't look too put out either as he eyed the spread in front of us.

"I've got to say, Clary," he said in a serious voice as he swallowed the handful of bacon he'd shoved into his mouth, "I'm impressed with you."

"Why?" I asked, looking at my plate and pushing my eggs around with my fork.

"That must have taken a lot of self-discipline to save Jace's life like that. It would have been a struggle for me not to shove in a knife of my own." Then he laughed, and I forced myself to smile, even though I didn't find it the least bit funny.

I'd always thought that I hated Jace Wayland. Logically, I should hate him even more after last night—after what I went through for him, only to have him taunt and call me names in return. But if I truly hated him, would I have helped him at all? I couldn't imagine letting anyone bleed to death in an alley, no matter how awful a person they were—and Jace wasn't even that bad, all things considered. It hadn't been an option, finding him out there hurt and semi-conscious, and then just walking away, leaving him there. No decent human being would do that.

So why did I feel like I had just gotten a disadvantage in the war we'd been having since ninth grade? I'd saved his freaking life—not exactly revenge for whatever he'd been planning to do at that party.

It didn't matter, I told myself. If I could help it, I wouldn't have to deal with Jace anymore. Impossible as it sounded, maybe I could try out ignoring him for once, turning up my nose when he tried to get a reaction out of me. Why did I even bother with someone like him?

Next time Jace got knifed in the gut, I wouldn't be there to save his sorry butt. That much I could be sure of.

* * *

The weekend passed way too quickly.

My mom was still considering whether or not she should reward or punish me for what happened Friday night; by Monday, she settled on making me go to school, even though I begged to stay home, for just a few days. Even though she tried to make it seem like a punishment, she looked at me sympathetically and pointed out that Jace wouldn't be in school anyway, unless he was a mental patient—which didn't really reassure me.

Jace wasn't the only one that worried me, though. Knowing my school, no secrets could be kept, and news like this would get around fast. Isabelle, who was one of the monarchs of gossip, would probably spread it around personally until every person in the school was aware of what went down on Friday. And, knowing my luck, she'd probably paint me as the criminal who had jumped him in the alley.

It probably didn't help that I had a history of antagonizing him—stealing his seat in history and pouring coffee on his head and all of that unforgivable stuff.

I stayed close by Simon's side on Monday, keeping my head down. He walked protectively beside me, shielding me from the stares of the other kids, who, surprise, surprise, knew all about what had happened. Some of them whispered about me or pointed, while others just openly stared. I hoped this would all blow over in a few days, but that seemed unlikely.

People had been avoiding me for the most part until I got to fourth hour. One of the cheerleaders—the ones always giggling and batting their eyelashes at Jace from afar—stalked up to me from where I was sitting in the back of the room, minding my own business. She was glaring at me like I'd just committed some horrible, personal crime against her. She got right in my face and, with every pair of eyes in the class fixed on us, snapped, "Stay away from Jace, Carrot Top. If you hurt him again, you're going to be the one in the hospital."

Then she turned and sashayed back to her cheerleader friends, who were all glowering at me. I just watched her go, speechless, not because of the threat itself, but because she had just put together several sentences to form an actual coherent thought.

Guess that answered the question on what people thought of my role in the whole ordeal.

Simon assured me that not everyone believed I had made an attempt on Jace's life. As always, the story had gotten pretty twisted while taking its trip through the rumor mill. Some people thought I'd been behind the stabbing, some thought I'd dragged him from a fifteen-foot-deep ditch after hearing his pathetic cries for help, while others decided that the police had found me curled up next to his body, sobbing my eyes out.

That last one bothered me the most. When I said so to Simon, he looked at me like I was crazy and said, "Get your priorities in order, woman. You'd rather people thought you tried to murder Jace than cry about finding his mangled body?"

I crossed my arms and scowled at the ground. "Idiots," was all I muttered, making him sigh.

* * *

On Thursday at the diner, my mom suggested the unthinkable.

"Why don't you go and visit him?"

I choked on the orange juice I'd grabbed from Mona's tray of drinks. I felt no guilt about stealing her beverages, especially after hearing that she'd gone home to bed after hearing that I was missing last Friday.

"Visit who?" I asked mechanically, already knowing exactly who she was talking about, but not quite willing to believe my mom would betray me like this.

"That boy you saved!" she exclaimed, exasperated. "Who else?"

"Mom." I carefully set the glass of juice down so I didn't crush it in my hand. I turned to face her, gripping the counter with my fingers. "I hate him."

She pursed her lips. "Hate is a strong word."

"Yeah, well, so is ugly."

"What are you talking about?"

"Nothing." I turned away again. I hadn't told anyone about what he'd said in the hospital room—partly because I didn't want anyone to pat my head and tell me I shouldn't listen to a word that mean little boy said, but mostly because I was irritated by how much it bugged me. Why should I care if Jace thought I was ugly? Answer: I shouldn't.

My mom sighed her please-don't-make-this-so-difficult sigh. "Clary, you saved this boy's life. Why should it matter if he's ugly or not?"

I almost laughed out of shock. "Mom, he's not ugly. At all. He's the opposite, actually." I inspected my fingernails, keeping my expression neutral.

"Then I don't see what the problem is."

"Do you remember the guy whose head I doused with coffee?"

"Yeah…" she said slowly.

I chewed the corner of my lip. "That would be him."

"Clary!"

"What?" I said defensively. "I can't help who winds up half-dead behind our diner!"

She shook her head angrily. "You can't just pretend he doesn't exist because you've had a few disagreements."

"Disagreements? He invited me to a party so he could humiliate me in front of everyone!" I cried.

I watched as her eyebrows drew together in concern, her anger instantly evaporating. Shoot. I hadn't meant to say that. "Is that true, Clary?"

"Maybe. I don't know. Maybe I'm paranoid," I lied. "The point is, I don't think I owe him anything else, do you? Especially not a friendly visit to the hospital."

"Don't you think he'd want to thank you?" she asked, but she didn't sound like she was going to force me anymore, thank goodness. "Saving a life is a really big deal—"

I rubbed my forehead with my fingers. "I didn't save his life!"

She put her hands on her hips and stepped closer to me. I avoided eye contact. "I don't care if you didn't stitch his stomach back together and give him CPR," she said firmly. "If you hadn't found him in that alley and called an ambulance, odds are, no one would have. And if it weren't for you, Clary Fray, that boy could be dead right now."

Hearing her say it sent a chill through me. It was freaky, imagining how much one life could depend so fully on you. If I hadn't taken out that garbage, would Jace really be…?

"Fine," I said evenly, cutting off that thought before it could run off with my imagination. "I saved his life. That just makes my point. If anything, _he _owes _me. _And I should not have to visit him at the hospital."

With that I marched away to take the order of a group of twenty-something-year-olds that had just walked into the diner, closing the conversation.

It was absolutely true, I thought, trying to squish the guilty part of me that insisted it was only common courtesy to visit the person whose life you saved at the hospital. What did I owe Jace?

Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

* * *

_I'll try to get another update up soon, but I have finals this week, so it'll be pretty hectic. Grrr. Anyone else have them? _

_Thanks for reading!_


	12. Chapter 12

Though it wasn't the most believable of possible scenarios, the idea that I was responsible for the attempt on Jace's life was the most popular of all the options, it seemed. Someone got the clever idea to start calling me Bloody Clary, something that I would have instantly given Jace credit for if he weren't lying in a hospital bed.

It didn't bother me all that much, as long as no one went to the cops and fabricated a story about my gruesome attack on Mr. Perfect. In fact, it was kind of cool, in a way, because suddenly I was intimidating to the others. They didn't look right through me, they stared; they didn't shove me out of the way in the halls, they swerved around me to give me plenty of room, as if afraid I would shove a knife into their intestines if they got too close.

I hated the staring, and I hated the nervous, scared way people acted around me, but being intimidating when you're my height, having been invisible your whole life? That part was pretty cool.

Until a certain stab victim's angry sister tracked me down, that is.

Honestly, I'm surprised she didn't corner me in the cafeteria for all to see. Considerate of her to grab my arm while I was walking innocently past a janitor's closet in the hall and drag me inside, so quickly I didn't even have time to scream.

By the time my stunned brain registered that I was standing in a closet, I was being slammed up against a shelf of cleaning supplies, staring into the glaring black eyes of Isabelle Lightwood.

"Were you the one that knifed Jace?" she demanded, looking so terrifying that for a second words completely deserted me.

Her hands, which were already digging bruises into my arms, tightened their grip. "I said, were you the one who did it?"

I should have just stammered out a "no" and left it at that, but instead I had to say, "Are you insane?"

Her eyes narrowed. "That's not an answer."

I stood up taller and met her eye, pushing away my fear of this tall, strong, beautiful girl who ruled the whole school. She wouldn't do anything to me here, in the middle of school. What did I have to be afraid of? I did my best to adopt a scathing tone. "You really think that _I'm _the one who stabbed Jace? Do I look like I know how to handle a knife to you?"

Her jaw worked as she looked me over, maybe deciding the best way to kill me. Finally she said stiffly, "No. But I've learned not to underestimate people."

"It wasn't me."

"Sure it wasn't." She didn't sound convinced. She stepped away, though, releasing me and letting the blood flow back into my arms. "Stay away from Jace," she growled, giving me one last scowl before slipping out of the closet and disappearing into the huge crowd of students rushing by.

I stood in the closet for a while longer, a little stunned by her sudden attack. I knew that I didn't want to get on Isabelle's bad side; I'd probably end up with worse than a knife in the stomach.

* * *

Later that same day, I was approached by yet another unexpected, Jace-related person. Unlike Isabelle, however, this guy didn't drag me into a janitor's closet for an interrogation. When I looked up from my locker to see him walking straight toward me with a slight smile on his face, I was certain that he would swerve around me at the last minute and join the pair of girls giggling admiringly behind me.

Only he didn't. Sebastian stopped right in front of me, his black eyes meeting mine. He didn't look at all uncomfortable to be near me; he didn't keep a wide berth, or make sure I didn't have any daggers on me or anything. He just stood there with his hands in his pockets and smiled that small smile of his.

"Uh, hi," I said, unable to keep my stomach from fluttering with nerves.

"Hey," he said, sounding perfectly at ease.

I waited for him to say something, but he seemed to be in no hurry. In fact, he was looking expectantly at me, as if I had been the one to stop by his locker in the middle of the hall.

"Can I help you?" I finally asked, nervously tucking a strand of red hair behind my ear. His eyes followed the movement of my hand, which made my face burn a little.

"I wanted to talk to you about this whole thing with Jace," he finally said, after continuing to stare at my hand like it was the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen.

My stomach dropped. Great. More threats? "Look," I said, looking away, "I really don't know what happened to him. I'm not the one who stabbed him, no matter what people say—"

"Will you meet me after school?" he interrupted, as if I hadn't spoken. I looked up at him, surprised. "I think it would be better if we didn't do this in front of the whole student body." He gestured lazily with one hand, indicating the audience I hadn't realized was growing around us, staring hungrily, waiting for something exciting to brighten up their dull days.

I cleared my throat, aware that I was probably blushing like a tomato, and muttered, "Yeah, sure. After school." I was so concerned with getting the crowd to disperse that I didn't really even realize that I'd agreed to it until he gave me his small smile, murmured, "See you then," and strode off down the hall, much to the disappointment of our spectators.

"Why was Sebastian Morgenstern talking to you?" a voice asked from behind me. I turned to see Simon watching him go, his eyes narrowed. I guess I couldn't blame him for being suspicious; he'd been extremely protective over me since Friday, which was really sweet, though a teensy bit annoying.

"He wants to talk to me," I said airily, trying to pass it off as no big deal. "Probably about some assignment for world lit or something."

Simon fixed me with his dark eyes, frowning. "We both know there's only one reason Jace's best friend would find you in the halls at school and ask to talk to you, Clary," he said, and even though it was a little irksome that he wouldn't think that Sebastian could just be expressing an interest in me, I knew he was right.

But that didn't mean I wasn't going to talk with Sebastian.

After school, I hung around uncertainly outside the front doors. Sebastian hadn't elaborated on where he wanted to meet me, so I figured I'd just wait around until he showed up. I was beginning to feel kind of foolish, though. What if he was setting me up for another embarrassment? Maybe he was going to bring out the rest of Jace's gang and they'd all beat me up or something. I swallowed hard and it took all my self-control not to chicken out and bolt.

It took Sebastian nearly ten minutes to finally get outside. He smoothly detached himself from his group of friends, who didn't even seem to notice him leave, and strode over to me.

"Thanks for waiting," he said, sounding so gentlemanly and polite that I could hardly believe this was Jace Wayland's best friend.

I shrugged, trying to seem indifferent. "I don't have anything better to do."

He smiled slightly, probably seeing straight through me, but he didn't comment. Instead he gestured down the sidewalk, indicating that we should start walking, and said, "Shall we?"

I shoved my hands into the pockets of my coat and walked beside him, keeping my eyes glued to the ground. I'm not normally the shy type (anymore), but something about Sebastian brought out the quiet in me that I'd thought I'd kicked.

"So I've heard—" he began, but I was so edgy that I couldn't bear to let him finish, and I cut in.

"I know what you've heard," I said, the words coming quick and rushed. "That I'm the one that attacked Jace. But I swear I'm not. I could never do that to another person, even someone like Jace. Not that I'd want to kill Jace," I added quickly, aware that I was just digging myself an even deeper hole, but I couldn't seem to stop. "I'm sure he's a good person, just not to me, but that's all right, because it's not like I'm nice to him either. But I wouldn't stab him or anything, I'm not that kind of person—"

I trailed off when I saw the amusement in his eyes.

"I was just going to say that I've heard it might rain over the next few days," he said calmly, and I immediately felt like the biggest idiot in the world.

"Oh." Mortified, I looked down at my feet. He went on.

"But now that you bring it up, I suppose it's not a bad topic to discuss. Jace is my best friend," Sebastian said, and when I risked a glance at him, his eyes were downcast, his expression sad. I felt sorry for him. How would I feel if Simon had been stabbed and was now in the hospital? "He's practically like a brother to me. I don't know who would hurt him, because I've never met anyone who didn't love him at first sight." He slanted a glance at me. "Until I met you, of course."

I had a feeling that it wouldn't be the best time to point out that Simon also happened to hate Jace's guts—although that was kind of an empathy hate, I think.

"Is that why everyone thinks I did it?" I asked, trying to sound casual. "Because I'm the only one who hates him?"

Sebastian's expression turned thoughtful. "I don't think anyone has put that much thought into it," he said. "Someone started the rumor, and everyone accepted it. You were the one he was found with, so they assumed that you were the one who must have done it."

"But I'm also the one who called the ambulance," I protested, unable to stop myself. "And it's not like I had a knife on me or anything."

"Like I said, no one's put much thought into it."

I sighed. "Do you know who started the rumor? I'd like to give them a little gift from me—maybe a nice punch to the jaw," I muttered, mostly to myself, but he chuckled.

"I know you've probably been asked this a hundred times over the last week," said Sebastian, looking a little embarrassed, "but I have to ask. Do you have any idea who might have been responsible for attacking Jace?"

We'd stopped walking by this point, and Sebastian had turned to face me fully. I felt a little uncomfortable under the intensity of his gaze, like everything depended on what I was going to say next. I tried to hold his gaze as I stammered, "I'm sorry, I have no idea."

The intensity died out of his eyes and he looked disappointed. "Right," he said. "Sorry. I guess if you had, you would have told someone by now."

"Yeah," I said, nodding. I wondered why he wanted to know. Did he think he could track down the one responsible himself and make him pay? I suddenly felt apprehensive. "Hey, don't go doing anything you might regret," I said. "This guy could be dangerous. If he stabbed Jace in the stomach and then bolted, he might not feel bad about doing the same to you. And don't go trying to avenge him by killing anyone, either."

Sebastian smiled. "Wouldn't dream of it. I'm no police officer—I don't even own a gun. I may want to hunt down the bastard that did this to Jace, but I'm not stupid. I know I can't do it alone." He sighed and shook his head, staring morosely at the row of buildings beside us.

Even though I'd really had nothing to do with what had happened to Jace, the look on Sebastian's face made me feel guilty. If I had gone to that party, would Jace have ever left it and gotten attacked in the first place?

I mentally shook myself. There must be something wrong with me if I was feeling guilty about staying away from the party and keeping myself from getting humiliated.

And I was feeling that way all because Sebastian had turned puppy dog eyes on me. I really needed to reinforce my defenses.

"Hey," Sebastian said in a different voice, looking down at me as if he'd just realized something. "What if you helped me find who did it?"

"Me?" My voice squeaked out of surprise. "I-I don't think—"

"I think it's a great idea." His eyes were starting to glow. He took a step closer, and I automatically stepped back, stumbling over the curb. "You're the one who found him. Did you see what direction he was coming from? Did he tell you where he'd been? Who he was with? Anything at all?"

"Hold on," I said, raising my hands to stop him. "What about Jace? Why can't you just ask him?"

Sebastian's mouth puckered with frustration. "I have. He doesn't remember anything."

I frowned. "Nothing? How is that possible? He has to have _something _from that night—"

"He was drunk," Sebastian said shortly, and I didn't miss the flash of anger in his eyes. He must have warned Jace not to get carried away with the alcohol, only to have his warning ignored. "And he went through a traumatic experience. He only remembers half the party and nothing after that."

My heart sputtered out of its rhythm. Did that mean he didn't remember that I'd been the one to save him?

Honestly, I was relieved. I didn't need him knowing that. I didn't want him to think that I cared enough about him that I'd gone to the trouble of saving his life. I couldn't help thinking that, if our roles had been reversed, he would have easily left me in that alley to bleed to death.

Harsh, but that's what I thought.

"I think you'd be better off trying to jog his memory rather than searching for the attacker," I said gently. Without thinking about it, I reached out and touched Sebastian's arm. He looked down at my hand in surprise, and so did I. I jerked back, flushing, and mumbled, "Sorry."

"Don't be." His eyes smiled at me. "Maybe you're right. Maybe I will try to jog his memory before jumping into anything." His face grew serious and he leaned toward me, making me want to back away again, but I held my ground and kept my eyes on his. "But if I can't get anything out of Jace, you have to promise to help me track this maniac down," he said somberly, but with a teasing light in his eyes.

"Um." I swallowed, trying to gather my thoughts. "Yeah. I'd be happy to help."

He grinned at me, the biggest smile I'd ever seen him give. "Great. I'll see you tomorrow." And with that he strode away, so abruptly that I was left blinking after him in the middle of the sidewalk, unsure of what I'd just agreed to.

* * *

_Phew! Finals are over! I may have butchered my history test, but other than that they went all right. _

_Thanks for reading and reviewing! _


	13. Chapter 13

Despite the extra attention I was getting for my said murderous qualities at school, being called Bloody Clary by practically everyone other than Simon and the teachers, and worrying about the conversation I'd had with Sebastian, life started to settle down again. Heartless as it sounds, it was nice not having Jace at school. I didn't realize how much I interacted with him until he was gone.

Yep, everything was nice and restful. Until the cops showed up at my house.

My mom had closed the diner early because business was slow, and we were sitting in the living room together in comfortable silence. She was scribbling something into a notebook and I was drawing on my sketchpad. We hadn't done anything like this in a long time—just sat quietly doing nothing in each other's company.

Then someone buzzed up to the apartment. I wasn't too concerned; I figured it was just Luke. He tended to drop by unexpectedly. But when my mom buzzed down to ask who it was, I heard, "Officers Prescott and Brent, ma'am. We'd like to ask Clarissa Fray a few questions."

I froze, the sketchpad slipping from my hands and tumbling to the floor. I stared at the back of my mom's head, willing her to tell them to go away. She stood there stiff and tense for a second, before saying in a slightly cold voice, "Come on up."

She buzzed them up and then turned back to me, her lips pressed into a thin line.

"Don't you tell them anything, Clary," she said fiercely, surprising me with her intensity.

"What are you talking about?"

She wouldn't quite meet my eyes. "They don't have to know anything. It isn't important," she said, and that's when it clicked.

My mouth was probably hanging open like a fish's, but I couldn't help myself. The realization had just hit me like a ton of bricks to the face, leaving me speechless and stunned. Was it possible that _my own mother _suspected that I might be guilty for attacking Jace?

And you think you know a person.

"Wait," I sputtered, standing up so fast I nearly knocked the armchair over. "Let me get this straight. You think there's something to tell? You think that _I—"_

There was a heavy knock on the door, and Mole Cop—sorry, _Officer Prescott_—said, "Police force here. Open up."

My mom gave me a look, half stern and half pleading, a look that told me I'd better shut up now, or I'd be in trouble. Then she turned and opened the door, stepping aside to let Mole Cop and a man I didn't know inside. They muttered greetings to her, but she just fixed them with a stony gaze, lacking her warm, reserved-for-company smile.

"Hello, Ms. Fray," the cop I didn't know said, nodding politely to her. "I'm Officer Brent, and this is Officer Prescott."

"We've met before," my mom said icily, barely glancing in Mole Cop's direction.

Officer Brent shifted uneasily, probably aware that this wasn't going to be as easy as he'd hoped. "Would it be all right if we had a word with your daughter?"

"Go right ahead." My mom folded her arms over her chest and stared holes into their heads. Even though I was still reeling over the fact that my mom might have thought me capable of armed assault, I couldn't help feeling proud of her in that moment.

Officer Brent cleared his throat and clarified, "Alone, if you don't mind, ma'am."

"I do mind," my mom shot back. "Clary is seventeen years old. She is a minor, and I think I have a right to stay and supervise this ridiculousness."

"Now see here," Mole Cop growled, puffing out his chest. "This is official business. And it doesn't concern you."

"I'm her mother," she shot back. "I'm pretty sure it does concern me."

"It's all right, Mom," I interrupted, surprising all of them. "Might as well get this over with. I'll call if I need you," I added for her benefit, even though I was more than capable of handling the situation by myself. I hoped.

Jaw clenched, my mom gave a curt nod and walked into the kitchen, clearly stewing over the whole thing.

"Won't you sit down?" I asked, trying my best not to sound sarcastic. Officer Prescott sat himself down on the sofa immediately and made himself comfortable, which made me dislike him even more. Officer Brent opted to stand. He looked edgy, like just being in our apartment made him want to make a run for it.

"I'm sure you know what this is about," began Officer Brent.

"Is it because I'm doing so well in school?" I asked in a falsely bright voice.

I saw the weariness enter Officer Brent's expression as he realized I was going to be one of _those _people. I felt a little bad for him; he looked exhausted. But when Mole Cop took over, my sympathy evaporated.

"The incident with Jonathon Wayland, that's what," he snapped. "You were the only witness on the scene that night, and we'd like you to recount it for us."

"I already did," I said. "At the hospital, remember? You talked to me and my mom."

He narrowed his eyes at me. "And now we'd like a restatement. In case you happened to remember anything," he said. Translation: in case you'd like to confess.

I decided that playing the scared, sweet child card would be better than bad-tempered and grouchy. I sighed and sank tiredly down into the armchair again, slumping and trying to look dejected. "I'll answer your questions."

Mole Cop looked a little smug. "Good. Now we're getting somewhere. Who was the one who attacked Jonathon?" he shot at me.

I looked him right in the eye and said evenly, "I don't know."

"Didn't he mention someone? Anyone?"

I twirled a strand of my hair around my finger, and then realized they might take it as a sign that I was lying, and quickly dropped my hand. "I told you, he wasn't himself," I said. "He could barely form coherent sentences."

"We've heard a few rumors from your school," said Officer Brent. "Seems like you've been given a rather unfortunate nickname."

Dang it. Why did my nicknames have to get dragged into this? I was going to strangle whoever had come up with that ridiculous name.

I tried to look embarrassed. "I'm guessing it's the Bloody Clary one."

"Your classmates seem pretty eager to pin the blame on you," Mole Cop added, watching me closely. "Especially Jonathon's adopted brother and sister."

Isabelle had been pretty vocal in her suspicion, but I hadn't known that Alec felt the same. Then again, he was basically her male clone as far as I knew, so I shouldn't be surprised.

"I don't even know his brother and sister," I said. "I've never spoken to them before." Which would have been the truth a few days ago, but after Isabelle dragged me into the janitor's closet, I was now officially lying to the police force. Which was probably not a good idea.

Officer Prescott was staring at me like he could see straight into my soul. I tried not to squirm. "We've tried to ask about his location on the night of the accident, prior to your introduction into the scene," he said, watching for a reaction, "and no one seems to know."

Figures. Who would want to admit that there'd been a party at the Pandemonium Club going on, full of drunk teenagers who had probably been dabbling in a number of different illegal activities? But would Jace's own sister cover it up even if it might help the police catch whoever had been responsible for hurting him? I'd always thought of Isabelle as shallow, but not necessarily selfish. Not the type to sacrifice the safety of her brother so that she wouldn't get in trouble for a wild party she'd thrown.

This was my chance to fess up and tell them all I knew about the party. What was the big deal? It wasn't like I would get in trouble for it. I hadn't even gone. And yet, something unknown and insistent held me back. I knew that withholding information basically constituted lying, but I just couldn't say it.

So I said innocently, "I don't know Jace well, sir. I have no idea where he might have been that night."

Officer Prescott only grunted, probably thrown by the "sir" I'd put in there on a whim.

"Are you absolutely sure, Miss Fray?" Officer Brent leaned toward me. "You don't know anything at all? No possible suspects, no locations, nothing?"

I folded my hands together, trying not to look like I was hiding anything. I knew what he was really asking—won't you give us something, anything, that might take you down from the top of the suspects list?

But without that party information, I had nothing to give. So I just said, "Nothing at all, sir."

He gave a tired, disappointed sigh and straightened. "We'll leave now," he said, clapping Mole Cop on the shoulder and urging him to his feet. "Thank you for giving us your time."

"We'll talk soon," Prescott added, which didn't reassure me.

I walked them to the door and then locked it behind them after they left, my heart beating wildly in my chest.

I'd never lied to a police officer before. Especially not to cover for Jace Wayland and Isabelle Lightwood and all the other kids at school who had taken to calling me Bloody Clary. Even though I told myself it had been a noble thing to do, I knew I'd just done something terribly stupid, and if I was caught in the lie, I was done for.

* * *

_Of course it would be too easy if she could just tell them everything, right? _

_Thanks for reading, and for reviewing! I love reading your reviews!_


	14. Chapter 14

The day after Officers Prescott and Brent paid us their little visit, my mom told me that she had something to show me—a gorgeous spot in Central Park she was certain I would love to draw.

It took me way longer than it should have to realize that we weren't going to Central Park at all, and that the sketchpad on my lap wouldn't be necessary, unless I was planning on drawing some rather morbid pictures.

My mom was currently trying to coax me out of the taxi where it was stopped outside the hospital. I sat pressed up against the opposite door of the car, as far away from her as I could get.

"No," I said tersely. "I already told you, I don't want to visit him."

"Clary, I'm not kidding around," she said sharply. "Get out of the car."

"Really, lady," the taxi driver added over his shoulder, sounding extremely annoyed, "I have other people I gotta take around. Can you just get out of the car, please?"

The glare my mom was giving me was the thing that really pushed me over the edge, but I muttered, "Well, since you said please," and slid out of the car.

I would have made a run for it if my mom hadn't grabbed my wrist in her death grip and dragged me into the hospital.

I wondered if the receptionist recognized us, because she seemed in a hurry to get us away from her desk. She was probably afraid of getting shouted at again.

"Just go and talk to him for a little while," my mom said as we waited for the receptionist to look up Jace's room number, not looking up from signing the visitor ledger. "Make sure he's okay, maybe ask a few questions about what happened—"

"Hold on," I interrupted, staring at her with wide eyes. "That's why you dragged me here? So I could ask him about that night?"

She didn't quite meet my gaze, which was my answer right there.

"You want me to get my name cleared," I said, marveling at her. "You want me to find out who did it so I won't take the fall."

She opened her mouth to answer, but nothing came out.

"Or do you really think that I did it?"

"No!" she exclaimed, horrified. "Of course not! I know you could never do something like that. But the police…the police don't know you as well as I do. They don't see any reason why you couldn't be their prime suspect." She studied a picture on the wall, chewing her lip in the way that I did sometimes when I was nervous. "That's why we have to find out who did it."

"And you think that Jace can tell me."

"Who else?" she demanded. "He's the one who got stabbed, for crying out loud! Who else would know?"

"Sebastian says he doesn't remember anything," I protested.

"Who's Sebastian?"

"Room 405," the receptionist interrupted quickly, beginning to look extremely anxious. "I can get a nurse to take you there if you want."

My mom and I took another five seconds to glare at each other before I finally said, "That's all right, I'll find it on my own." I turned and stormed through the doors to the in-patient ward, furious that my mom had won that round.

Once I found Jace's room, however, my anger was replaced with nerves. I didn't want him to think I was worried about him. I didn't want him to think that I'd been agonizing over his condition for days. Would he remember my visit from before, or had he been too out of it from the pain medication? I really, really hoped he didn't remember.

Taking a deep breath, I stuck out my chin and entered the room.

It looked pretty much the same as before. Jace was sitting in his bed rather than lying down, his hair a little damp from a recent shower—or maybe a sponge bath, I thought with an involuntary smirk—and he was flipping through TV channels. He gave me a cursory glance as I entered and then did a double take.

"Well, well," he said, turning the TV off, which I instantly took as a bad sign. "Look who it is. Ginger—"

"Don't you dare call me that," I threatened.

"—bread," he finished. "Fancy seeing you here."

I crossed my arms and gave him my coldest look. "I have a few questions for you about what happened that night."

His smirk instantly turned into a look of irritation. "Everyone's been asking that," he said, flopping back onto his pillows like a five-year-old. "And I keep saying, I don't remember. And I really don't, okay? Everything's hazy. They told me that's what happens when you go through something traumatic."

"It's also what happens when you're totally drunk," I said, and his eyes shot back to me.

"How do you know that?" he asked, a little too sharply. His tone made me realize that I might have some useful blackmail material here.

"Why, Jace," I said with fake astonishment. "The hospital _does _know about your condition last Friday, right?"

"Of course," he said contemptuously, with enough confidence that I knew it was true. "They took blood tests. I couldn't exactly hide it."

"Do your _parents _know?" I asked, and by his expression I knew I had him. "Why didn't the doctor tell them?"

"He said I could do it, if I wanted," he said, avoiding my eyes. "Thought I was adult enough to handle telling them on my own."

"But you didn't do it," I guessed dryly.

His mouth curled up at the corner. "The opportunity didn't really present itself."

"Maybe I can _make _that opportunity present itself," I said, and his eyes went back to my face, narrowing.

"You wouldn't."

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't do it."

He shifted on the bed, looking agitated. "You don't have any right to tell them about that night," he said angrily. "It's none of your business."

I barely stopped myself from barking out a laugh. It was none of my business, was it? It wasn't like I'd hauled his sorry ass to the side of the road and ruined one of my best shirts with his blood or anything.

Of course, I didn't intend to tell him any of that. As far as I was concerned, he could go through his life being oblivious to my involvement in the whole disaster. Even if he knew, it wasn't like it would change anything. It would just end up being embarrassing for both of us, and it would make things worse than they already were.

But my mom had brought me here for a reason, and even though I was furious with her for forcing me into this tiny hospital room with a boy who was glaring at me like he wanted to jump out of bed and strangle me, she had a point. So I was going to do my best to find something out.

"Look," I said, taking a step closer to his bed. "I won't tell anyone about your…_condition _on Friday, all right?"

He visibly relaxed, the heat of his glare smoldering into ashes. He opened his mouth, maybe to thank me or maybe just to tell me to get lost, but either way I didn't give him time to say it.

"_If," _I added, and his expression went flat again, "you tell me every tiny, blurry detail you remember."

"I already told you," he snapped, "I don't remember anything!"

"Nothing? Not even a flash? Nothing to give you even the teensiest clue about who decided to jump you and jam a knife into your gut?"

For a second his mouth twitched like he was going to smile, but he fought it back. "Nothing," he said firmly.

I folded my arms over my chest and fixed him with a hard stare. "Well, that's unfortunate, because I'm not leaving until you remember."

"I can always call the nurse in here to drag you out," Jace threatened.

I scoffed. "She loves me."

We continued to glare at each other for about ten more seconds before he finally gave in with a noisy sigh. "Fine. I'll try." He shut his eyes, his brow furrowed in concentration. He looked a little pale and there were dark circles under his eyes. His gold hair was ruffled, one part of it sticking straight up in a way that struck me as kind of adorable—

_No. _I dropped my eyes, mortified by my own line of thinking. No way was I going to start describing in poetic detail my appreciation for Jace's face. I hadn't thought of him as attractive since the day I met him, not really; I'd managed to block those unwanted, forbidden thoughts from my head pretty well.

And never once had I thought of him as _adorable. _Maybe I had a fever.

"Hold on." His voice startled me out of my embarrassment. I glanced up to see him staring wide-eyed at the wall, as if not seeing anything but the slideshow in his brain. "I think I'm remembering something."

Eagerly, I stepped closer. "Really? What do you remember? Is it the attacker?"

"No." He shook his head, rubbing his temples with his fingers. "There was a pig dancing in circles with Alec, and they were both wearing tutus…"

I snorted and glowered as he dropped his hands and opened his eyes, giving me a mocking look. "Had you for a second, didn't I?"

"This is serious!" I exclaimed.

"Why do you even care?" He folded his arms over his chest, only to wince and drop them again, seemingly frustrated with his inability to take up a defensive pose. "You aren't planning on avenging me, are you, Fray?"

"Not in the least," I said coldly, but he was starting to grin. Wonderful. How was I supposed to explain this to him? I couldn't exactly say I was a suspect for the attack, could I? If he got wind of that, he'd probably start telling the police that _now that he thought about it, he _could _recall a short redheaded girl creeping out of the shadows, clutching a knife…_

I clenched my jaw and tried to draw myself up to look taller. At least he was lying down, so I could loom impressively over him. "All right, Wayland. This time you're going to close your eyes and remember, or I swear I'm going to call your parents right in front of you and tell them just exactly what you were doing Friday night." I pulled my cell phone out just to make sure he knew I was serious. Never mind that I didn't have their number—the barely concealed panic in his eyes told me that he hadn't even thought of that.

"Fine. Sheesh." He closed his eyes again, and if he mentioned pigs or tutus or Alec again, I was gonna—

"I remember going to the party," he said, surprising me with how serious he sounded. "I think I was on the dance floor. People kept handing me drinks. I didn't even have that many"—he ignored my snort of disbelief—"but I started feeling…you know." He opened his eyes and added, "And that's where my memory cuts off."

"You have to remember more than that! Keep trying!"

"I'm tired," he said shortly, closing his eyes and lying back against the pillows. "I think you should go."

"Oh, no. I'm not finished with you!"

But before I could seize him by the shoulders and shake him until his stupid memories rattled loose, the door opened and that same painfully cheerful nurse from Friday night entered. She took one look at me and broke into a smile that nearly blinded me.

"Oh, Clary!" she gushed, and I tried to remember telling her my name. "I was just talking to your mom in the waiting room, and she told me you'd come to visit your friend." She looked fondly between us, probably envisioning our romantic reunion after Jace's dramatic almost-death—she seemed like the type to enjoy a good soap opera.

"I was just leaving," I managed to stammer out as warning sirens blared in my head. I edged toward the door, but she was blocking my path, still chattering on.

"I bet you're so grateful to Clary," she said to Jace, beaming at him with the brightness of headlights. "You're very lucky she was there, or you might not even be here right now."

Jace's eyebrows drew together as panic started to build in my chest.

"Excuse me," I said, one second away from shoving the nurse to the floor and making a break for it. "As you know, my mom's waiting for me, so I have to get going—"

"Nonsense," she waved me back, "she told me you were in no hurry. I bet she's so proud of you! Her own daughter, a hero."

"What is she talking about?" Jace asked me, looking bewildered. "Why should I be grateful?"

"It's nothing," I said, sending the nurse a look that begged her to shut up.

"You mean he doesn't know?" she gasped, eyes huge. "Why wouldn't you tell him?"

"It's no big deal," I said through gritted teeth. I had never met a nurse that was so nosy. Why was it so important that Jace had to know what happened?

"Tell me what?" Jace demanded, beginning to sound frustrated.

The nurse turned to him and answered promptly, "That she saved your life, of course."

There was a beat of absolute stillness in the room as Jace absorbed that little tidbit of information and I slowly started to die from humiliation and panic.

I didn't want Jace knowing any of this. I didn't want him thinking that I'd cared enough to help him. I certainly didn't want him to think that I felt anything more for him than hatred.

"I don't understand," he said slowly.

The nurse opened her mouth to say more, and I snapped, "Stay out of it, would you?" She stared at me, astonished, and I felt guilty, but maybe she shouldn't have been poking her nose where it didn't belong.

I brushed past her and threw the door open, storming into the hall. I was nearly running as I retraced my steps back to the waiting room, my face so hot it felt like smoke should be clouding the whole building.

Looked like the cat was out of the bag now.

* * *

_She should have known the secret couldn't be kept for long..._

_Thanks for reading and reviewing!_


	15. Chapter 15

_You guys! I love you so much! We hit 200 reviews, and I couldn't be more excited!_

_There have been some requests for a chapter in Jace's POV. I promise it'll come eventually, but right now there are thoughts in his head that have to be kept hush-hush… All his little secrets will come out, don't you worry. ;)_

* * *

I was not very happy with my mom after my little hospital adventure.

On the way home, she tried to ask me how the visit went. Lowering her voice so the taxi driver wouldn't hear, she asked if I'd found out anything about Jace's attacker. I gave her a curt, "No," and then turned to glare out the window.

It sounds terrible, but I was dreading when Jace would get back to school. Now _that_ would be uncomfortable.

* * *

Two days later, Jace was back in school.

I couldn't believe my bad luck. He'd been out for weeks. Why did he have to come back a couple days after that humiliating conversation in the hospital?

Hopefully, I wouldn't even have to talk to him. He was surrounded by dozens of kids, all gushing about how they were so _glad _he was back, and how _worried _they'd been, and did he need them to spoon-feed him until he regained the use of his arms?

It was seriously sickening. At least his constant escort of fussy girls and fawning guys kept him far away from me. Sometimes I saw his eyes sweeping the halls as if he were looking for someone, and my imagination ran wild and thought, _He's looking for me. _But he didn't look the least bit angry, so he couldn't have been looking for me. He was busy enough with all of his admirers who were currently trying to drown him in the circle of their mixed perfume.

"So he's back," said Simon, standing off to the side with me as we watched a few senior girls practically go up and ask for his autograph. His tone betrayed how unhappy this made him.

"Yep," I said.

Simon blew out a long breath, like he was trying to contain his disappointment. "Guess it had to happen sooner or later. At least now maybe he'll stop those rumors about you being the one who tried to kill him."

I didn't think he actually believed that. I sure didn't. I didn't contradict him though. If he wanted to hope for impossibilities, let him. I wasn't one to crush my best friend's dreams.

Also, I hadn't exactly mentioned to him that our fellow classmates weren't the only ones who suspected me of attempted murder. The cops had taken up that opinion, too. I had a feeling Simon wouldn't take too kindly to that information. I hadn't told him about my visit to the hospital, either. For some reason, I had this feeling that he wouldn't believe I'd been dragged there against my will. Simon always seemed like he expected me to jump to the Dark Side at any moment, like if Jace batted his eyelashes at me I'd fall head over heels in a second.

It didn't mean Simon didn't trust me. It just showed that he was used to getting left behind. Thinking of Simon that way made my chest hurt, so I tried not to let those depressing thoughts circulate too often.

"Does he remember anything from that night?" Simon asked, and for a second I panicked, thinking he'd found out about my trip to Jace's hospital room two days ago and this was his cute little way of revealing it. But a second later I realized with relief that he wasn't expecting a real answer from me. "I mean, he's got to know something. His mind can't be wiped clean."

"You should ask him," I said, giving him my sweetest smile. "You could solve the mystery and become a hero!"

To my disappointment, Simon snorted my idea down. "Yeah, like I'm going to go up to Jace Wayland and ask, 'Hey, so I heard you got sliced open. Any idea who your potential killer is?'"

"I get it," I said sourly. "I just think it would be cool to figure out who did it, that's all."

"That's the cops' job, Clary," said Simon, turning away from the scene of Jace getting mobbed by his fan club. I took one last look at him, starting when I saw that his eyes were fixed right on me. When our eyes met, he started wading through the crowd, and I quickly turned away and hurried after Simon.

No, thank you. That was one conversation I didn't want to have.

The rest of the school day went pretty well. I managed to avoid Jace effectively; I sat as far away from him as was humanly possible in history, even though he kept trying to catch my eye and I was fairly sure he even threw a pencil at me at some point. I kept my eyes straight ahead and refused to even glance at him.

I made Simon act as my shield in case Jace was still trying to track me down. He might have caught up with me, too, if it hadn't been for all the people still swamping him. It was kind of satisfying to see the downside of his insane popularity for once. Some of those girls around him looked like they were planning on knocking him out, dragging him back to their basements, and tying him to their bedposts.

I was relieved when I finally made it out of the school at the end of the day, and I hadn't had to interact with Jace even once.

That is, I was relieved until I saw the police car parked across the street.

I stopped dead and stared at it. Simon hadn't come out with me—he was tutoring every other afternoon now. I felt alone and exposed as I stood in front of the school and looked at the cruiser. I couldn't see the cop in the driver's seat, but I could see occasional movement.

Maybe I was just being paranoid, but I was certain that they were here for me.

I felt a hand on my shoulder and spun around, almost taking a swing at whoever thought it was okay to creep up behind me like that.

Good thing I didn't go through with it, because it was Sebastian. His eyes were serious as he murmured, "Follow me."

Yes, it did occur to me that I shouldn't follow strange boys, especially when they're closely associated with Jace, but going with Sebastian seemed like a much better option than taking a trip downtown.

I hurried after him as he turned and reentered the school. He swerved down hallways so quickly I almost couldn't keep up with him on my short legs. Finally he went through a door that led into the rather small school courtyard, which basically consisted of a fence, coarse, half-dead grass and one stunted tree growing in the center.

There were also stone benches placed around the outer edges of the yard. I sank down onto one, putting a shaking hand to my forehead.

"They're here for me," I said.

Sebastian nodded once. Guess that ruled out the paranoid thing, then.

"Are they going to arrest me?"

"No," he said at once. "They don't have any proof beyond the word of a couple teenagers that you played any part in what happened to Jace. Well, aside from saving his life."

"So, what? They're spying on me or something?" I was finding it difficult to swallow. Being tailed by the police was a lot scarier than they make it out to seem in the movies.

"Maybe they're keeping tabs on you," he agreed. "Although that seems a little extreme. You hardly look like a killer."

"Gee, that's comforting," I said sarcastically. "Because if I was covered in tattoos and piercings, I would have to be the culprit, right?"

Sebastian ignored me. "Maybe they're out there for a different reason," he suggested, pacing in front of me. "Trying to catch speeders or something."

I nodded, though I didn't buy it. I don't think he did, either.

"We need to clear your name," he said, spinning on his heel to face me. I tried to hide my surprise; why should he care so much? What was it to him whether I was thrown into jail or not? "Jace doesn't remember anything. I grilled him all through lunch, but he's drawing a complete blank."

I gritted my teeth in frustration. "Why did he have to drink so damn much? Then we might actually have a lead!"

"You can hardly blame him for getting caught up in the excitement," said Sebastian a little coolly, reminding me that we were talking about his best friend here.

"Sorry," I said. "But it would have been nice if he could have stayed sober."

"Remember what you promised when we talked the other day?" Sebastian's dark eyes looked at me with unnerving intensity. "That if I couldn't get anything out of Jace, we'd go and try to find the person responsible ourselves?"

"Hey now," I said, holding up my hands. "I'm not sure that's such a good idea."

He frowned at me. "You already said you'd help."

"Yeah, but come on, Sebastian. We're seventeen-year-olds who have no experience in this sort of thing. You honestly think we have a better chance of finding out who did it than the cops do?"

"Yes," he said firmly, surprising me. "Some people can spot a cop if they're looking for one. They're always careful with what they say, in case they're dealing with undercover police. No one would suspect a couple of teenagers."

"And they're not going to tell a couple of teenagers anything useful, either," I argued.

He smiled, which made me instantly nervous. "We aren't going to go up and interrogate people, Clary," he said. "We're going to listen."

"Listen?" I questioned. "And who exactly are we going to listen to?"

"Anyone we can," he answered.

I really did not like the sound of this.

* * *

_I've decided I'm going to be updating a day sooner now. I love how excited you are for updates, it's so encouraging!_

_Thanks for reading and reviewing!_


	16. Chapter 16

The police car followed me home.

When I left the school after talking with Sebastian and started toward my apartment, I was electrically aware of how the cop car pulled away from the curb and crawled out into traffic, headed in the same direction I was.

Coincidence? I think not.

I took a taxi the rest of the way home, unable to bear the idea of the cop car creeping along after me. I practically ran into the apartment to change for my shift at the diner. Running probably made me look more suspicious, but I was so on edge that walking seemed out of the question.

I was halfway out the front door, changed and ready for another long afternoon of waitressing, when something occurred to me, and I froze midstep.

There was a chance that Jace was going to show up at the diner with his usual gang of friends. And there, I wasn't sure I could avoid him.

I considered calling in sick, but my mom never took that for an excuse unless I was puking or running a fever of a hundred and four or something. I could fake it, but it would come back to bite me in the butt later.

And Simon's words were ringing in my head, telling me not to let Jace get these reactions out of me. I'd just shed my cowardly skin not that long ago; I wasn't about to crawl back into it.

So I marched out that door and headed for the diner. Jace wasn't going to chase me away from my job.

But I was still going to avoid him as much as possible.

* * *

I got to Valentine's at approximately 3:25. I was a little late, but no one seemed to notice except for Mona, who gave me a dirty look as she passed with a tray of food balanced on each hand.

I was full of tension as I retrieved my apron from behind the counter and got out my notepad, keeping one eye on the door. In five minutes, I would know if Jace was feeling up to visiting his favorite little hangout. I couldn't remember the last time they'd been even a minute late. I swear they waited right outside, screamed, "Now!" and darted inside right when 3:30 rolled around.

Not that I watched the clock for when they came or anything like that.

I was taking drinks down for a table of senior citizens when I happened to glance at the clock. Instantly, relief washed away my tension. It was 3:40. He wasn't coming.

The elderly couple I was serving were probably a little concerned at the goofy smile that popped up on my face, like my mind had suddenly cracked right there in the middle of the diner.

I turned and practically skipped away from their table. I was halfway through filling up the drinks when the door opened with an ominous creaking sound and I stiffened.

Slowly, I looked over my shoulder.

It was a balding middle-aged man in a tie, shoulders hunched with exhaustion.

I let out my breath.

I really needed to take some relaxing yoga lessons or something.

"Clary?" My mom's voice made me jump, which caused me to slosh lemonade on my hands. I turned around, wiping them on my apron and hoping I didn't look too accusing. She looked wary, like she knew I was still none too happy about that stunt with the hospital, but I wasn't in any mood to have a fight, so I tried to smile. It most likely turned out as a grimace.

"Yes, Mom?" I said, way too polite to be normal.

"How was school?" she said, stacking some dirty plates Mona had dumped on the counter into a pile.

"Fine," I said conversationally, keeping my eyes on the drinks I was filling. "Jace was back today."

I shouldn't have expected a big reaction out of her. I don't even know if she knew what he looked like. But he was the guy she'd forced me to visit at the hospital only a few days ago, so I thought she might at least gasp or drop a plate.

But she just said, "Oh?" Barely interested at all. I looked over at her to see that she was distracted by some new customers. Not listening to me at all.

I pushed away my frustration. It didn't matter anyway.

"Jocelyn?" Mona said, stepping right between us and turning her back to me. "Can you help? This guy is freaking out over the bill. Says I overcharged…"

Disinterested, I walked out from behind the counter with the drinks I'd taken five minutes to fill.

And nearly dropped them.

The new customers that had distracted my mom were none other than Jace and his band of goons.

And he had about a dozen other people with him, most of which were girls.

I wanted to hide in the storage room again.

I hastened over to the senior citizens and plopped their drinks on the table before scurrying away again. Hiding was sounding like a really good idea. I could already see Jace turning his head left and right, most likely searching for me. Maybe he wanted to trip me again, show off for all the girlfriends he'd managed to acquire throughout the day.

It was even more annoying when they crammed into their usual booth _and _took all the chairs from the surrounding tables so they could all jam themselves in the same place. They looked like a bunch of sardines, packed in so tight they'd probably suffocate from breathing each other's air. The thought almost made me smirk.

Then I saw the pretty dark-haired girl next to Jace, clutching his arm and laughing flirtatiously at something he must have just said, and for some reason that made my stomach twist. I thought her name was Aline or something.

"Clary!" my mom shouted, and I looked over to see her frantically waving toward the table of devils. Yeah, I got it, we had no time to waste, it was the biggest party we'd had in here in ages, and I had to get right on it.

I wondered how badly she'd bust me if I ran out the door right then.

_You're not a coward, _I told myself sternly. _Not anymore. Suck it up._

So I did. I snatched my notepad off the counter and marched right over there, trying to summon up that anger that had propelled me into telling Jace to shut up, that had urged me to take his seat, that had inspired me to pour coffee over his head.

The problem was, little as I wanted to admit it, my nerves were strong. It's difficult to concentrate on anger when you're trying not to let yourself blush.

And then, like some heavenly blessing-or curse-his words from the night of his attack came into my head, unbidden. _Your ugliness is putting a real damper on my drug-induced bliss, Gingerbread. _And, _voila, _I was instantly pissed.

"What can I get you?" I asked in an unfriendly voice as I reached their table, looking at anyone but him. I could feel his gaze burning holes in my head, but I refused to look. If I did, I might end up launching myself across the table and strangling him.

Instead, my eyes settled on Sebastian. He smiled at me and winked surreptitiously, and I automatically smiled back.

"Ugh, can't we get a different waiter?" one of the girls asked, eyeing me with disgust. I didn't bother telling her that I was actually a waitress. She didn't seem like the type who cared. "Like, one that isn't a psycho killer?"

The dark-haired girl that was clinging to Jace like cat hair held him tighter, fixing me with a scorching glare.

"Yeah, we don't want Bloody Clary here," one of Jace's friends crowed, and everyone laughed.

I could feel my face heating up, but it wasn't with embarrassment. It was with anger.

"Careful," the girl, Aline or whatever, said loudly, sneering at me. "She might get a butcher knife from the kitchen and serve us up for dinner."

More laughter. More fury bubbling up inside. That girl was going to get it if she didn't shut the hell up.

"Are any of you going to order?" I asked in a bored voice. That seemed to get to her.

"Um, not from _you," _she said. "So get lost."

"Well, this is the only service you're going to get," I told her sweetly. "So either tell me your order, or get the hell out of my diner."

Her mouth dropped open. It was priceless. I glanced at Sebastian to see him grinning, which only spurred me on.

"Excuse me?" she sputtered. "I'm going to report you to your manager."

"Be my guest," I stepped aside and gestured to the kitchen with a flourish.

She flipped her hair over her shoulder and snapped, "Whatever."

Wow. Must have taken her a while to come up with that comeback.

When Aline didn't offer up any more stinging quips, everyone reluctantly began rattling off their orders. When I got to Jace, I kept my eyes on my notepad. Almost everyone else had added some nasty, mocking remark to their order, and I could practically taste their excitement as they waited for him to give the real bruiser.

But all he said was, "A Coke."

That's it.

There was a beat of silence in which everyone stared at him, including me. He was looking straight at me, unabashed, seemingly unaware of the astonishment of his friends. His dark-haired girlfriend released his arm with a huff like he had personally offended her.

I dropped my eyes quickly and finished taking the orders. Then I hightailed it out of there.

Just a few minutes ago I'd felt like slugging someone, but now Jace had shocked me out of my rage. He'd been coming to the diner every day for over two years. This was the first time he had given his order without a smirk, a sneer, an insult, a taunt. All he'd said was, "a Coke," and that was that.

I was so stunned I could barely walk straight.

Okay, maybe that's an exaggeration.

In any case, I had to slip into the back room to compose myself. To be clear, I was _not _hiding; I just needed to recover before I returned to Table Hell over there. But even before I'd reached the door, I could hear Chef Timothy rattling around in there, and I changed course, heading for the back door instead.

The second I stepped outside, I regretted it.

The alley looked a lot different in the daylight. Less creepy, and less like it could be the scene of a murder. Which it almost had been.

But it still creeped me out, and brought back some unpleasant memories. I didn't have any other options for solitude, though, so I leaned against the cold wall of the alley and stared at my feet.

Okay. So maybe I was hiding a little.

The door opened and I looked up to tell my mom that I just needed two minutes of fresh air, or Timothy that I'd only been taking out the trash, or Mona to get bent. But it wasn't any of them.

It was Jace.

I had to stop my mouth from falling open.

"Hey," he said, looking wary and uncomfortable, but for once not wearing an antagonistic smirk, not looming over me like he wanted to squash me under his shoe.

I didn't reply. I just looked at him.

"I need to talk to you," he said.

"You can't be back here," I said. It was the first thing that popped into my head. "Staff only."

Jace shrugged, unconcerned. "It's important."

"Oh yeah? What could you possibly have to say?" I was trying to play it bold. I could think of plenty of things he had to say, most of them revolving around what that nurse had mentioned to him at the hospital. And how I'd blackmailed him into trying to remember the events of the night he'd been attacked.

He looked past me toward the mouth of the alley, and his eyes widened fractionally. "This was the place, huh?" he asked, and I followed his gaze. It could have been my imagination running wild, but I thought I could see a very faint shadow of dried blood on the ground, and my heart flip-flopped. "The place where I…" He trailed off and looked more uncomfortable than ever.

"Yep."

"And is it true that you…saved me?"

I raked my fingers through my hair, trying to keep my temper. "Look," I said tensely. "I don't want to have this conversation, okay? That nurse got her story wrong. She was just running her mouth, and she didn't know what she was talking about."

"So it's not true?" he challenged, eyes flashing.

"What does it matter?" I shot back. "It's over with. Ancient history." Which wasn't necessarily true, because that night was still coming back to haunt me, in the form of topping the suspect list.

"Hardly," he scoffed. "Are you really going to try to keep this from me?"

"Why can't you just ask your buddies in there?" My voice was rising without my realizing it. "Your whole fan club would love to fill you in, I'm sure."

"They don't know what happened," he said, beginning to sound angry. "No one does—except for you."

"I have to get back to work." I tried to brush past him, but he actually reached out and clamped a hand on my shoulder, stopping me in my tracks. I quickly jerked away from him.

"I want to know what happened," he said in a steely voice.

"Too freaking bad."

"Maybe if you tell me, it'll work some other memories to the surface," he said, which made me freeze. He smirked a little, knowing he had my attention. "I know you want to know," he said. "If I know all the details involving you, then maybe it'll coax something else up..." He raised an eyebrow at me.

I folded my arms. "Or you could just try really hard to remember by yourself," I said icily, "and I won't tell your parents that you were intoxicated."

A muscle in his jaw jumped. I'd never done much blackmailing in my lifetime, but it was turning out to be quite enjoyable.

"That's none of your business," he said coldly.

I raised my eyebrows. "Why, Jace! You've got me all wrong. I'm only concerned for your well-being. If your parents don't know what terrible condition you were in that night, how will they be able to stop you from doing it again? It's for your own safety!"

He scowled at me and I couldn't keep a straight face any longer. I snickered at him and his glare deepened.

"This is my life we're talking about, Fray," he snapped, and I could tell he was really losing patience. "Hard as it may be to believe, you aren't the only one who wants to find out exactly what happened. I was almost _killed. _I don't know why you want to know so badly, and I won't ask, as long as you keep your nose out of my business. I already agreed to tell you what I remember, didn't I?"

"That's your only condition? Me staying out of your business?" I said.

One corner of his mouth tugged up. "And you have to tell me everything you know about that night."

I blew out a breath, ruffling a strand of hair that had fallen in front of my face. The guy was persistent, I'd give him that. He had his jaw set stubbornly, his arms crossed over his chest, and he was staring me down. He wasn't going to give up easily.

And what was the point of keeping it a secret anymore? He basically knew the story. He just wanted the details. Sure, he'd probably start laughing when he heard about how I'd dragged him to the road and called an ambulance, waited there with him, gone to the hospital with him. But he was right. Telling him might refresh his memory. Maybe he'd remember something more useful. Like, who tried to murder him.

"Fine," I muttered, leaning back against the wall and averting my eyes so I didn't have to look at his expression when I told him. "I was taking out the trash that night, and I heard a sound. Turned out to be you. You staggered into the alley and told me…" My voice faltered. Leaving out the part about how he'd told me he had been planning on humiliating me in front of the popular student body seemed like a good idea.

"Told you what?" he asked, quirking an eyebrow.

"I don't know," I said lamely, shrugging and trying to look bored. "Gibberish, seeing as you were wasted." I saw him move restlessly at that and almost smiled. "You passed out and I realized you were bleeding. So I called an ambulance."

"And?" he prompted.

"That's it."

"Come on," he scoffed. "There has to be more. How else would that nurse have known the story?"

I gritted my teeth and finished the rest in a rush. "I pulled you to the side of the road so they could get you on the stretcher and rode to the hospital in the ambulance. Then I sat in the waiting room for who knows how long, just to make sure you weren't dead." _Oh yeah, then the cops came and interrogated me. But that's just a minor detail. _"It wasn't really saving your life," I added for good measure.

He was silent. I wanted so badly to peek at his expression, but I didn't quite dare. I was afraid he would start laughing.

Finally, the quiet became too much for me. "Well?" I said edgily. "Don't you have anything to say?"

He still remained silent, until I finally couldn't take it and looked over at him.

A slow grin was spreading across his face, much to my dismay.

"It's not funny," I snapped.

"I never said it was." But he kept grinning.

"Would you stop smiling like that?"

"You rode in the ambulance with me," he repeated. My fingers clenched into fists. "Did you hold my hand?"

My fist came up and punched him in the arm, hard, almost of its own volition.

"Hey," he said, rubbing his arm, probably more out of surprise than actual pain. "What was that for?"

"You're going to make fun of me for saving your life?" I practically snarled. "Real classy, Wayland."

"I thought you said you didn't save my life." His golden eyes were level as he looked at me. Calm. Infuriatingly, irritatingly calm.

I wanted to tell him that he was the one who had come looking for me, and that if he'd collapsed in that alley and I hadn't been out there, it was unlikely that anyone would have found him before it was too late. But I bit the words back, spun on my heel, and stormed toward the door.

"Hold on," he protested, following me, much to my annoyance. "Don't you want to know if I remember anything new?"

I stopped with my back to him, trying to take in relaxing yoga breaths, and said through clenched teeth, "Fine. Did you remember anything new?"

He seemed to think about it for a second. Then, "Nope."

I wanted to kick the wall. Instead I flung the back door open and marched inside as Jace's quiet laughter trailed after me.

* * *

_And Jace wins the award for Worst Reaction of the Year! _

_But is he just hiding his true emotions?_

_Or is he really just a big fat jerk? _

_Things to ponder..._

_Oh, and I know Aline plays the "annoying girl" in these stories a lot, but I just couldn't think of anyone else to cast for that part. I briefly toyed with using Camille, but her personality just wasn't right. _

_Anyway, thanks so much for reading and reviewing! _


	17. Chapter 17

"He laughed?" Simon's eyes widened in disbelief. "You told him you _saved his life, _and he _laughed?" _

"Yep," I said, trying to seem like the whole thing didn't bother me. "But that's kind of what I expected."

"He's got some nerve," Simon muttered, shaking his head angrily. "Maybe you should take him back to the hospital so he can laugh at the doctors and nurses, too."

I sighed. When Simon got worked up, it was difficult to reason with him. "I'm pretty sure there is no relation between me and the doctors and nurses, Simon. They literally saved his life. I just called an ambulance."

"Still! Is he completely brainless? Didn't his parents ever teach him manners? He's a...a boorish ape!"

"Whoa, down boy," I said, holding up my hands. When Simon started calling people boorish apes, it meant things were about to get ugly. Well, as ugly as things ever got with Simon.

"Sorry," he mumbled, still a little red in the face. "But it just makes me mad, you know?"

"I know." I pulled my knees up to my chest and rested my chin on them. We were sitting in Central Park on our usual bench. It was Friday afternoon, and my mom had given me the day off from work. Just like yesterday, I managed to avoid Jace completely, although I'm not sure he would have bothered trying to talk to me anyway. He'd gotten his information. Now he could devote all his attention to his doting fans.

"So why don't you seem angry?" Simon asked as the last of his steam filtered out of his system and his shoulders slumped.

"Honestly, I have no idea," I answered, and I didn't. I had expected to wake up fuming and thirsty for blood, but when I opened my eyes that morning I'd felt nothing. No resentment, not even irritation. Maybe I'd finally accepted the kind of person Jace was. I hadn't expected him to fall at my feet and sob his gratitude. Low expectations could be the key to toning down my temper when it came to him.

"Are you going to draw or not?" Simon asked, nodding at my sketchbook, which was opened to a blank page and sitting next to me. I glanced at it and then had to look away again. The vacant space glared at me, taunting me, but I already knew it would be useless to attempt anything. I hadn't been able to draw for days. It was like I'd developed a sudden case of artist's block.

"I don't know. Maybe we should just go home," I said, keeping my eyes down as I began to gather up my sketchbook and pencils.

"Go home?" Simon repeated incredulously. "You dragged me all the way out to Central Park so you could draw a masterpiece, and then you want to go home ten minutes after we get here? You haven't drawn a thing!"

"I guess I don't want to draw after all," I said casually. I didn't want Simon to see how upset this block was making me. Drawing helped me vent my feelings. It made me feel sane at those times when everything hit me at once and made me feel like I was going crazy. I'd been hoping that the beauty of Central Park would give me some inspiration, but I'd gotten nothing out of this trip. Zilch. Nada.

Simon grumbled about my indecisiveness as we headed toward the exit. As we left the park and stepped onto the crowded sidewalk, I was mostly tuning him out, turning my head back and forth and taking in the sights, when I spotted them.

Jace and Sebastian were standing together in the shadow of a building, talking in low voices that didn't carry to me. I was so stunned at seeing them that my footsteps faltered for a moment. Sebastian kept gesturing with his hands, and as I watched, Jace ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. I'd never seen them argue before—not that I really knew either of them that well. Still, it seemed unnatural to see the growing anger on Sebsatian's face, the way Jace kept shaking his head.

Suddenly, Sebastian's dark eyes flickered past his friend and met mine, as if he'd sensed me staring.

I snapped my gaze away, face hot with embarrassment at being caught watching them, and quickened my pace, pulling on Simon's arm to keep him with me.

The whole taxi ride home, my mind was full of questions. Why would Sebastian and Jace be fighting? I could only think of one reason—it had to do with the night of the party, when Jace had been attacked. Sebastian was probably trying to get him to remember again. He didn't seem to be going about it in a very gentle way, though. Forcing Jace to remember hadn't done any good so far.

Suddenly something clicked.

Jace didn't respond well when people got in his face, demanded things of him, bossed him around. In fact, I was pretty sure he was making an effort _not _to remember, just to spite the people who kept hounding him about that night. Namely, Sebastian and me.

Maybe I should go at it a different way. Maybe I should take a…nicer route.

The very thought of it made me feel like I had a bad taste in my mouth. But if being nice to Jace in order to weasel out some answers was the only way to get myself off the police's radar, then I would do it.

No matter how painful it was.

* * *

I was full of impatience as I waited for Monday to roll around. Simon kept asking me what had crawled up my pant leg, but I just told him that my artist's block was making me antsy. I felt guilty for keeping Simon in the dark about the whole being-a-suspect-of-a-murder thing—more than guilty, in fact—but I couldn't tell him. It would just make him freak out. It wasn't like he could help me. Besides, I didn't want to get him involved. For all I knew, he was already being classified as "the criminal's accomplice."

On Monday, I searched the halls for Sebastian. I wanted to share my idea with him. He seemed like a smart guy. If I had just concocted a terrible idea, I had no doubt he'd inform me of it without sparing my feelings, which was fine with me. Sometimes I needed someone to tell me whether or not I was being stupid. And since Simon and my mom weren't options this time, I would have to go with Sebastian.

I saw a flash of his white hair in the hall between fifth and sixth period, and my heart leaped. Even better, he wasn't trailing after Jace's entourage. In fact, he was leaning against a line of lockers and writing calmly in a notebook, ignoring the tide of students passing him.

I walked right up to him, trying not to notice the stares I was getting, and tapped him on the shoulder. He looked up in surprise.

"Can I talk to you?" I asked.

He smiled at me, a smile that made his eyes crinkle a little and that kept his teeth covered. That little part of my brain that was constantly running off onto totally unrelated and unhelpful paths thought about how much it would like to see him give a full-blown smile, showing teeth and everything, and how nice it would make him look.

Wow. I had to disconnect that part of my brain one of these days.

"Sure," he said, looking a little bemused. I led the way toward the courtyard. We'd be late for class, but I don't think either of us cared. He had to know what this was about.

The bell rang just as we sat ourselves down on one of the benches, and the remaining kids that were milling around filed toward their classrooms, some of them taking their sweet time. I hoped no teachers would pass through here and see us, or we'd be busted.

"What's up?" Sebastian asked, looking calm and collected. On the other end of the spectrum, I was squirmy and restless, twisting my fingers together.

"I had an idea," I said, meeting his eyes. They were so dark I could have sworn they were pitch black. "It might be stupid, it might not work, and it might just make things worse, but I thought I'd give it a try."

"I see," he said, looking amused. He threw an arm over the back of the bench and fixed me with an expectant look. "And what is this brilliant idea of yours?"

"Well, I saw you outside the park on Friday," I said, holding eye contact and refusing to look guilty. He blinked, but otherwise didn't say anything. I went on. "You looked like you were having an argument with Jace, and I could guess what it was about."

"Remembering what happened," Sebastian said with a short nod. I couldn't tell if he was angry or not. His expression was unreadable. "You'd be right."

"It occurred to me that Jace doesn't really respond well when we demand what happened," I continued. "In fact, it's almost like he doesn't want to remember, just to get us back for getting in his face. So I thought we could try a different tact."

Sebastian raised an eyebrow, waiting for me to go on.

"We could try being…nice." I must have made a face, because Sebastian chuckled.

"I can see this idea isn't very appealing to you."

"It just goes against my natural instincts," I said dryly. "But if it means finding out who did it…"

"And clearing your name," Sebastian added.

I nodded. "Then it's worth it."

He gave me a small smile, brushing a strand of white hair out of his eyes. The movement caught my attention and held it, how impatiently he twitched his fingers like that piece of hair was constantly falling out of place, and was just a nuisance to him now. Then he said, "So you're going to seduce him."

"Huh?" I said, still distracted by my own wandering thoughts. Then his words registered and my eyes nearly bugged out of my head. "Seduce?" I sputtered. "That's not what I…"

"Jace is a sucker for women," Sebastian said, completely at ease with the way the conversation was headed. "All you have to do is charm him, and he'll tell you anything you want to know."

"I was just going to be nice!" I protested, my voice rising slightly with panic. "I wasn't going to…"

"Seduce him," Sebastian finished helpfully. "Would you still go with this 'nice' idea if it took twice as long as it would if you simply flirted?"

My face was starting to get hot. "I don't think I could do that," I objected. "I'm no actress."

Sebastian leaned closer; I tried not to squirm under the close proximity. "I think you could do a very good job."

I shifted my eyes away, biting down on my bottom lip. "Um. Maybe?"

He stood abruptly, giving me a small smile. "Think it over," he said. "Believe me, it's a good idea."

With that he turned and exited the courtyard, leaving me to wonder, if it really was the best way to clear my name, would I be able to flirt with Jace?

* * *

_What do you think? Will Clary be able to "seduce" Jace into remembering? _

_Thanks so much for reading and reviewing!_


	18. Chapter 18

Shockingly, the knowledge that I was now expected to "seduce" Jace did not make me any more enthusiastic about seeing him. And I was pretty sure he didn't want to see me, either.

The week got progressively worse after my conversation with Sebastian. On more than one occasion, I caught sight of Isabelle Lightwood glaring daggers at me. Let me tell you, that girl can be scary. And always at her side was her brother Alec, whose bright blue eyes were always on me as well, though he wasn't glowering like Isabelle. Still, his gaze unnerved me.

They obviously thought I was responsible for attacking Jace. How many other people truly believed it, aside from the ones that simply liked to joke about it?

And to make matters even worse, I kept seeing cop cars everywhere. I understood that it wasn't unusual to see police officers around, but they always seemed to be around _me. _If I confided in Simon, I knew just what he'd say: "You're being paranoid, Clary. I'm pretty sure the police force has better things to do than tail you."

But I wasn't so sure.

One of these days, they were going to make a decision. Either they would rule me out as a suspect, or they would arrest me and put me on trial. Could they do that without tangible proof? I really hoped not.

By Thursday, I was getting sick of the tension that was twisting my stomach into knots, the glares from Jace's siblings, and the fact that cop cars seemed to be following me, which may or may not have been a result of my paranoia. A new resolve formed inside me as I marched into the diner and donned my apron. Unless I was going to chicken out on the plan, it was time to put it into action as soon as possible.

You know what they say, there's no time like the present.

Jace and his friends came in at three-thirty, right on cue as usual. There were less fawning girls hanging around than there had been ever since Jace's return, although I noticed that Aline was still clinging to Jace. She'd clearly staked her claim and chased the others off.

"I'll take the table today," Mona offered, her eyes fixed on Jace. It had come to the point where we just called it "the table." What other table would we be talking about?

I studied Jace, wondering if he looked especially attractive today or something. Mona rarely outright said she would take the table; if she was in a flirty mood, she would agree if I asked her to, but this was highly unusual.

To me, he looked exactly the same as always: obnoxious. Mona, however, was eyeing him with the sort of hunger with which a lion might look at an antelope.

"That's all right," I said, and she looked at me in surprise and barely concealed disappointment. "I can tell you're really busy today."

"Not really," she said quickly. "It's no trouble. You've been under a lot of stress lately, Clary, and I just think that if you accepted some help—"

"Aw, that's sweet of you, Mona," I said, beaming at her. Inwardly, I thought, _She must think I'm a moron to believe that load of crap. _"But I've got my section under control. I'd love it if you could do the dishes after closing time, though."

Mona's mouth hung open like she'd like to give a good answer—or rather, excuse—but she just couldn't think of one.

"Thanks!" I said brightly, and hurried off to Jace's table.

I glanced automatically at Sebastian as I reached them, to find that he was looking at me with a knowing expression. There was a challenge in his eyes. _Are you going to go through with it? _I lifted my chin and turned my attention to Jace.

Then I did something that felt like it was driving me against my very nature: I smiled at him.

"What can I get you?" I asked, talking only to him like I'd seen Mona do when she was flirting.

He smirked at me. I was expecting a snippy reply, but all he said was, "A Coke."

The others ordered, all with varying degrees of disdain. Sebastian didn't order anything at all, but he kept staring at me.

Just as I was going to turn away and marvel that they hadn't said anything snide, Jace added, "Oh, and do you have a defibrillator nearby?"

I stopped and, like an idiot, said, "What?"

"You know, in case I start choking and need you to save my life again," he explained.

Laughter all around. Sebastian looked bored and slightly scornful. Jace grinned at me while Aline practically threw herself into his lap, cackling madly.

That pot of coffee on the counter was looking really good right now. Picturing his expression from that night still gave me a thrill of satisfaction. He'd probably look just the same if I tipped it over his head again…

_No. _Go with the plan, Clary.

I forced another false smile at him, hoping that I didn't look like I'd just eaten something unpleasant, and said, "Actually, we do have one handy in the kitchen. So no worries."

Jace's smile faded a little in the face of his confusion. I hightailed it out of there, because it had sapped most of my strength to keep the sarcasm out of my voice.

Mona, of course, had been planted in the same spot throughout the whole scene, watching everything. "What was that?" she asked, staring at me.

I shrugged and avoided looking at her. "What was what?"

"Were you flirting with him?"

I wrinkled my nose and gave her my best look of disgust. "Not in a million years."

But she looked suspicious. Note to self: watch out for Mona. She knows something.

I would have taken the rest of the day off from my mission to give myself some much-needed rest after being so sickeningly polite to Jace, but unfortunately he sought me out. Again.

This time, he caught me while he was on his way to the bathroom, and I to the kitchen to pick up an order.

"Hey," he said, touching my arm. His fingers were warm. "Are you okay? You're not sick or something, are you?"

When I looked at him, I was expecting a smirk. A grin. A snicker. Something that was a Jace trademark. But instead, he looked puzzled, maybe even the tiniest bit concerned…although that part might have been my overactive imagination.

"Nope," I said with another fabricated smile. "I'm great. How are you?"

He pulled his hand back fast, like he was afraid whatever I had was contagious. "You're acting weird," he said warily.

"I just realized that…" I pretended to glance shyly down at my shoes and mentally cursed myself for not at least Googling "ways to flirt with a guy." "You've been through a lot lately, getting stabbed and whatnot…I thought I should give you a break. I've been hard on you."

Now he was looking at me like he thought I was crazy rather than just fatally ill. "What are you talking about?" he asked slowly.

"You know, arguing with you, calling you names, pouring the coffee over your head. It was totally uncalled for."

"Uh." He took a step back, and I was really beginning to enjoy his bewilderment. He looked like he'd been dropped on an alien planet, a parallel dimension. "Right. Um, yeah. So I'll see you later."

He gave me one last crazy look and then disappeared into the bathroom.

I allowed myself a grin. I should have tried this flirting thing a long time ago.

* * *

My mom and I took a taxi home from the diner that night. I could tell by her silence that she had something on her mind, and it wasn't hard to guess what it was.

The second we were securely in the apartment, she turned around to face me, taking a deep breath. "Clary," she said. "Can we talk?"

I stopped halfway to my room. I'd been so close. "Sure," I said reluctantly. "What do you want to talk about? The weather? The news?"

"You know what I want to talk about," she said sharply. "This isn't a time to joke, Clary. This is serious. You're…" She hesitated, like she almost couldn't go through with what she was about to say. Then she went ahead and said it anyway. "You're on a suspects list. The police are thinking that you might be responsible for what happened to that boy."

"I'm not," I said, crossing my arms tightly over my chest.

I saw her shut her eyes briefly, trying to summon up the last dregs of her patience. "I know that," she said carefully. "Of course I know that. But we need proof to convince…others."

"Meaning, the police," I said.

"They could need a little convincing, yes."

"And what proof are we planning on getting, Mom?" I asked, looking at her hard. She usually had no trouble with staring me down, but tonight she was avoiding my eye. "You think the knife that got shoved into Jace's gut is going to appear on our doorstep? That would probably be more incriminating for me than ever, actually."

"Maybe if the police had some idea of who else might have been responsible," my mom said, her voice strangely pleading.

"What if it was just some guy? He was probably careful about it. Slid in the knife and got the hell out of there. Or who knows, maybe Jace tripped and landed on a pointy rock or something."

"Clary." My mom pinched the bridge of her nose between her fingers. "Please."

"Please what?" I said, a little too loudly. "Please figure this out? Please prove to the cops that I'm not an armed murderer? Please get Jace to remember what happened that night? I can't do any of that stuff, Mom. I don't know what's going on any more than you do."

She bit her lip for a second, staring at the floor. Then, abruptly, she turned and walked for the phone.

"What are you doing?" I asked, a little miffed that she had ignored my heated speech.

"I'm calling Luke. He'll know what to do."

I flopped down on the couch. "Luke isn't a private detective, Mom."

To my surprise, she seemed to be suppressing a smile. "Maybe not, but he's read a lot of mystery novels."

I sighed. "Now who's telling jokes?"

My mom couldn't be persuaded to let this brilliant new idea of hers go, and half an hour later Luke was knocking on our door.

My mom let him in and hugged him. I couldn't help noticing how she pulled away after a few seconds, and his arms dropped rather reluctantly to his sides. Well, well. Maybe someone had a little crush.

"Hey, kiddo," Luke said to me, coming over and giving me a hug, too. This time, I was the one who didn't want to let go; feeling Luke's strong, reassuring arms around me was wonderful. I felt safe, protected. I was in a place where no one could get to me.

But when he stepped away, the spell was broken, and I was a wanted girl again.

"So your mom explained your predicament." Luke's blue eyes were serious.

I tried to laugh. "Yeah. Wanted criminal."

"You're not a wanted criminal."

"I'm not so sure about that."

Luke sighed and sat down next to me. I could tell that my mom was a hundred times more relaxed with him here. She really believed he could fix this. It was almost like watching a little kid look up to their parents, thinking they would make it all better.

"The boy that got hurt," he said. "He can't remember anything?"

I shook my head. "Not a thing. Or so he claims."

"I don't see why he would lie," said Luke thoughtfully. "Unless it was to cover for someone else."

I sat up straighter. "What?"

"If he knew the person that was responsible, and it had all been a misunderstanding, maybe he wouldn't want to get them in trouble," he suggested. His eyes were gentle, his voice soothing. I could feel some of the tension uncoiling inside of me just with his presence. "Or maybe it was partly his fault. He wouldn't want to get himself into trouble, either."

Now _that _I could believe. I had a hard time picturing Jace withholding information from the cops to protect someone else. _Himself, _on the other hand…

"The best advice I can give is to keep trying to get those memories out of him," Luke said. He glanced over at my mom. "Your mom and I will do whatever we can to convince the police that you couldn't have anything to do with this."

It made me feel better to hear how confident Luke sounded. He wholeheartedly believed I'd had nothing to do with attacking Jace. Luke was sensible, straightforward, and truthful; if he had any suspicions whatsoever, I was certain he would tell me. Give me a chance to plead my case.

I closed my eyes and leaned my head against the back of the couch. With Luke helping, maybe things would get better.

Or maybe not.

* * *

_Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! Reading your reviews always makes me smile. I'll update soon! _


	19. Chapter 19

_I seem to have some kind of prolong-the-inevitable complex. Sorry it's taking so long to get to the romance part of the story. I have a thing about building up drama. But bear with me, because the next chapter has a cute little Jace/Clary moment, and this one stars Alec!_

* * *

The next day at school, I was trying to force myself into a state of mind where I could comfortably talk with Jace without gagging or losing my façade. Simon seemed to notice that something was off; he kept giving me sideways looks and asking, "Are you okay?"

"Yep," I answered, a little too brightly. "Never better."

He gave me a suspicious look. I was worried that he was starting to suspect that I was keeping things from him. Ever since we'd become friends, Simon and I had shared virtually everything with each other—and the things we didn't share were brought into the open anyway, because we knew each other so well. He still hadn't admitted to crushing on Isabelle Lightwood, but it wasn't exactly hard to guess, what with the way he acted when she was near.

Guilt pricked at me, and I opened my mouth, seconds away from blurting out that I was a suspect in a crime and now I was so desperate I was stooping to flirting with Jace.

"Look at him," Simon said disgustedly before a single word slipped between my lips. He gestured toward Jace, who was leaning casually against a locker, talking to his new personal guard dog, Aline. I could practically hear her growl when another girl got too close to him. "He just got stabbed, and he doesn't even care. He acts like he's king of the world. Isn't he worried that it's going to happen again? What if whoever was responsible is going to come back and finish the job?"

I hadn't put a lot of thought into that idea before. I had been assuming that whatever had happened had been an accident, or some senseless crime; nothing with calculated thought behind it. I'd thought that Jace had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time, or a little fight had gotten out of hand and he'd gotten hurt because of it.

But what if someone had actually sought him out and _tried _to kill him?

"You think someone's after Jace?" I asked. "Someone actually wants him dead?"

"Of course. It would be anticlimactic otherwise."

I rolled my eyes at him. "This isn't one of your sci-fi novels, Simon. I guess you think the attacker is going to come back and finish the job, too?"

I heard a sound behind us, like an intake of breath, and turned to see Alec Lightwood, Jace's "brother", looking at us with a strange expression on his usually unreadable face.

"Um," I said, as Simon turned to look at him too. "Hi there."

Alec stared at me like I had grown a second head. He opened his mouth like he was going to say something, but then he glanced at Simon and snapped it shut. Without a word, he turned and walked in the other direction.

I exchanged a puzzled look with Simon. "That was weird," I murmured.

"Tell me about it." Simon quickly forgot about the incident, instead going into an animated description of his adventures in Call of Duty last night.

But I didn't forget. Throughout all my classes, I kept thinking of the way Alec had looked at me. Why had he looked like that? Nervous, maybe even a little scared...

Maybe I'd imagined that look. Why would Alec be afraid?

_Unless he thinks you're the one who tried to kill Jace, _a voice in my head pointed out. _He must have overheard you talking to Simon. What if he thinks _you _are going to try to attack him again?_

No. Alec couldn't possibly think that. No one could. Nothing about me pointed to me being a killer, besides disliking Jace. And that wasn't enough proof.

* * *

After school, I was wandering around, looking for Sebastian, maybe even Jace, in case I was in the mood for some more experimental flirting on him. Thinking back on everything I'd said yesterday made me want to sink into the floor with embarrassment; I really needed to get some tips on the art of flirtation.

As I was peeking into the courtyard to see if Sebastian would be waiting on the bench again, a hand lightly touched my arm. I turned, expecting Sebastian or Simon.

I wasn't expecting to see Alec.

I almost backed away from him, I was so surprised. "Oh," I said, blinking at him. His face was pinched, his fingers curling and uncurling into fists. He kept glancing around, like he was afraid someone was listening.

"Can we talk?" he said in a low, smooth voice. Those might have been the first words I'd ever heard him utter.

"I guess," I said, dazed. He swept past me into the courtyard, heading to the back corner where no other students were gathered. He looked so tense, like he expected snipers to leap out and start firing at us at any moment. I followed him, getting warier by the second.

I could guess what this conversation was about. No doubt it would be along the same lines as what Isabelle had said; he would want me to stay away from his brother, maybe even accuse me of being responsible for what had happened to him. Threaten to turn me in to the cops. By the time I reached Alec, leaning against the wall with his hands shoved deep in his pockets, I was already resigned to the whole thing.

"I heard you today," he blurted out. His deep blue eyes stared into mine unfalteringly, making me nervous. "I mean, I heard you talking about Jace. How you thought that maybe...someone might be purposely trying to hurt him."

"Yeah," I said slowly. "I'm sure everyone's come to that conclusion…."

He ran his fingers through his dark hair, seeming frustrated. "That's the thing," he said. "People have mentioned it, but no one seems to believe it. Most of them think that it was just a coincidental accident, and he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. No one can see any reason why anyone would want to kill Jace. Even my parents don't seem worried about it."

I raised my eyebrows. I knew if I had been attacked in Jace's place, my mom would be freaking out, never dismissing a possibility; she'd probably hire me my own Secret Service, just to be safe. If Jace's parents were ruling out the chance that it was a deliberate attack, then it had to be a pretty far-fetched possibility.

But the look on Alec's face told me that he didn't agree.

"I don't think it was an accident," he said in a low voice. "Someone followed Jace to the party. I think they might have even drugged him. They—"

"Hold on," I said, unable to resist interrupting. "You think someone _drugged _him? Why?"

"You said it yourself, he was out of it when you found him," Alec said, looking agitated.

"Because he was wasted," I said, staring at him and trying to figure out how Isabelle's shadow had suddenly sprung to life in the form of this intense guy.

Alec shook his head, hard and fast. "He wasn't. I was with him almost the whole time he was at the party. He had _two _drinks, Clary. Two."

"They must have been strong, then," I said, trying not to seem surprised when he said my name. It seemed like such a personal thing to do; I'd almost expected him to call me "Fray" like Jace did—assuming he knew my name at all.

Alec shook his head again, impatient. "I got the same drink as he did. I had four of them, and I was barely drunk at all by the end of the night. He could barely stay on his feet."

"Which was probably largely in part to the stab wound," I pointed out dryly.

"Someone slipped something into his drink," Alec insisted. "Even at the party, he was getting out of hand after the first drink. He might have even passed out in a booth once—I wasn't really sure."

"You weren't sure if he passed out or not?"

"I was busy with…" His cheeks turned pink and suddenly he couldn't meet my eye. "Someone."

I tried not to smile. It was kind of cute that he was so embarrassed at admitting to sneaking off with someone.

"Is that how he left the party without you noticing?" I asked. "Because you were with…"

"Yeah," he said quickly, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. His face filled with anger, pointed inwardly. "I shouldn't have been so careless. But I couldn't have known someone would lure him away…"

"You think someone lured him away from the party?" I said, trying not to compare the scenario he was painting to one of Luke's mystery novels.

"Unintentionally, yes." His eyes were back on mine, even, piercing. Suddenly, I was the one that was looking away.

"What do you mean?"

"He was going to look for you."

I didn't answer. I wasn't sure what to say. Did this mean that Alec really did believe I was responsible for hurting Jace?

"He wanted me to be at the party," I finally said when the silence stretched on. "He had something…planned."

"Yes." Alec looked uncomfortable. I doubted he would tell me what Jace had planned on doing to humiliate me, and now didn't seem the time to ask anyway.

"So he came looking for me because he was…drugged?"

"I think so. Either he went looking for you, or someone actually went up to him and lured him away from the party. And somewhere on the way, he got jumped."

"What if he just got in a fight?" I demanded. "What if he hurt the other person just as badly as he was injured?"

"Jace wouldn't do that," said Alec gravely. At my disbelieving look, he went on, "He can be cruel sometimes, but he wouldn't hurt someone like that. He's good deep down."

I snorted softly to myself, too quietly for him to hear. _Yeah, right._

"Why are you telling me this?" I asked, reaching up to rub my aching temples.

"Because I know that the cops think you had something to do with it." My head jerked up, and he added, "Don't worry, I haven't told Jace, and I won't. But I want you to help me."

I groaned inwardly. How many people wanted to team up with me to find Jace's attacker? My mom and Luke were insisting I figure it out, Sebastian, and now Alec? Was there something about me that screamed "mystery-solver"?

"Get Jace to take this seriously," he said, surprising me. "That's all. Don't let him blow this off like he blows off everything else." I saw him tighten his hands into fists again. "He'll listen to you more than he listens to me."

I barked out a laugh. "I think you have me mixed up with someone else. Why would Jace listen to me?"

"You two may not get along, but if you take this seriously, then I think he will, too." He straightened abruptly. "I have to go."

"Hold on," I protested, following him as he strode swiftly toward the courtyard door. "Why did you come to me? Just because I thought that the attack could have been deliberate? Simon thought so, too."

"No," he said, glancing at me. "Because you're involved. Jace trusts you...even if he doesn't know it. No one else can convince him."

Then he was gone, through the door and disappearing into the ocean of students in the hall.

I stood where he'd left me, dumbfounded by the entire conversation that had just transpired. I felt buried beneath all of the people depending on me—why did Jace have to come to the diner that night, anyway? Why couldn't he have just stayed at the party? Then none of this would have happened.

* * *

_Thank you so much for reading and reviewing!_


	20. Chapter 20

My conversation with Alec had me on edge as I stopped at my locker to gather my things. I kept going over his words, wondering why he thought I would be of any help to him. _Jace trusts you. No one else can convince him. _What could possibly possess him to say that? Jace probably felt a lot of things toward me, but trust was not one of them.

Was Alec just grossly misinformed, or was Jace playing some joke on him? Trying to make him think we were friends? I wouldn't put it past him to start laying false trails down for everyone trying to solve the mystery of his attack; if he got fed up enough with people grilling him about that night, it wouldn't surprise me to find out that he was trying to sabotage any attempts made to track down his attacker.

The halls of the school were mostly empty. I stood there in the quiet as I heard a locker door slam somewhere in the distance. Few people seemed to want to hang out in the halls; they usually congregated outside, in nearby coffee shops or restaurants, far from the school they were forced to attend five days a week.

Suddenly, I felt exhausted, overwhelmed. I thought back to how life had been just a few short weeks ago, before this whole mess had started; I had been so upset about Jace's usual shenanigans, not even considering that life could get worse, and that it was about to. Now I had to deal with a suspicious police force and several people who seemed to depend on me to get to the bottom of this.

I leaned against my locker and slid down until I was sitting on the floor. I tilted my head back to rest it against the cold metal wall, a little too hard; I banged it against the lockers with a noise that echoed down the hall.

"Ow," I mumbled, but I continued to stare dismally at the ceiling. It felt nice to be alone for once.

"Fancy meeting you here."

I felt like I didn't have the energy to move. I looked sideways at the person who stood not far away, hands in his pockets, watching me with a smirk.

I sighed and shut my eyes. "Go away, Jace."

I heard him take a few steps nearer. "Is there any particular reason why you're sitting in the middle of the hallway?"

"Please leave me alone."

"My, someone is being short today," he remarked. "Then again, you've always been short, haven't you?"

I opened my eyes to glare at him. "I'm not in the mood today, okay?"

His smirk faded and he looked at me. I expected him to start making fun again, or, if luck was with me, to walk away without another word. Instead, he did something startling. He strode over and sat down right next to me, leaving a careful gap between us.

For a moment we both sat there in silence. I was rigid with tension; he must have something planned. Maybe he'd been hunting me down all day. I shouldn't be sitting here, in a place without witnesses. I suddenly wished I hadn't told Simon that he didn't have to wait for me. He was probably home by now, while I was here, about to feel the wrath of Jace Wayland.

When I heard him draw breath to speak, I was anticipating the worst. But all he said was, "Tough day, huh?"

"You have no idea." I lifted my head and let it fall back against the locker with another bang, to punctuate my statement.

"It hasn't been so great for me, either." I should have known he'd make it all about Jace.

"Must be hard, having all those girls throwing themselves at you," I said dryly, without really thinking about the words.

"That is pretty cumbersome," he agreed. "It's a trial being so devastatingly attractive."

I snorted softly, partly in exasperation and partly in unexpected amusement.

"But," he went on, "I was referring to the fact that I have a searing pain in my abdominal area at all times, almost everyone I know is badgering me about remembering every detail of the most traumatic night of my life, and I have a crapload of homework to catch up on."

I looked at him from the corner of my eyes, trying not to feel guilty. "Oh," I said, not sure what to say. "That."

"Yeah, that. Hold on, I take that back," he said suddenly. "The most traumatic night of my life was when I walked in on Mr. Tasker and Miss Haynes making out in the janitor's closet."

I looked at him full-on now, narrowing my eyes. "You did not."

He held up his hand and looked at me solemnly. "I swear on my grandmother's grave, I did. They were all over each other—Miss Haynes had her foot in a bucket of sponges, but she didn't seem to mind."

"You're lying."

"Scout's honor," he insisted. "I've had nightmares ever since."

Abruptly, without meaning to, I started to laugh. Maybe it was the image of Mr. Tasker and Miss Haynes, both so practical, uptight, and stern, going at it with a wide-eyed Jace standing in the doorway watching that got to me, or maybe it was the absolute seriousness of Jace's expression when he said it. Whatever the reason, once I started, I couldn't stop.

He started grinning. "There were a few extension cords wrapped around Mr. Tasker's ankle," he added. "He kept trying to jerk his foot away, but he was tangled up pretty good."

I tried to stop the flow of giggles that had suddenly burst out of my mouth. "Why were you in the janitor's closet, anyway?" I demanded.

"I heard sounds," he answered with a shrug. "I was curious. Also, I wanted some Windex to pour into my friend Wren's gas tank."

"What did they do when they saw you?" I asked, unable to help myself from grinning.

"They jumped apart and Miss Haynes tried to pull her skirt down, which was riding up pretty far," he said, winking. "She doesn't have bad legs, for an English teacher."

"Gross!" I snorted rather unattractively and clapped a hand over my mouth, fruitlessly trying to quiet my laughter.

"And Mr. Tasker's eyes almost fell out of his head," said Jace, chuckling fondly at the memory. "And he said something like, 'Mr. Wayland, what are _you_ doing here?' His face was as red as a fire engine."

I was laughing harder than ever now, unable to keep from picturing Mr. Tasker and Miss Haynes scrambling to come up with an excuse. Jace imitated Mr. Tasker's expression, twisting his face into a mask of outrage and shock; I was almost doubled over with laughter, and Jace had started to join in.

Then, suddenly, as if my brain couldn't bear to let me have one minute of unspoiled fun, it reminded me of who I was sitting next to. That I was laughing with the boy who had tormented me for three years, who had tempted me to drop out of high school and live the remainder of my life as a hermit, who had been the source of countless occasions of humiliation for me.

The boy that had laughed at me when he found out I'd played a part in saving his life, who had called me ugly when I visited him at the hospital, who had planned something awful for me at that party.

My laughter died off as suddenly as it had come. Jace stopped at once, too, but he still had a smile on his face.

"I didn't know you had the ability to laugh, Fray," he said, stretching his long legs out in front of him. "I'm impressed."

"I didn't know you could go through an entire conversation without making a redhead joke," I answered dryly, without looking at him.

"I can't. I was just biding my time, Gingerbread. Besides, I already used a short joke, so that makes up for it, right?"

There was no animosity in his voice, even though I listened hard for it. It was like we were actual friends, hanging out and joking around, like we'd never hated each other. It was unnerving.

I got to my feet, almost slipping in my haste, and said, "I have to go."

"Right, your job at the diner," he said, looking up at me from his spot on the ground. "I forgot."

"I don't have a shift tonight," I blurted out without thinking.

His expression became puzzled. "Then why do you have to go?"

"I just do, okay?" I snapped, suddenly desperate to get out of there as fast as I could. A hundred images and memories were flashing through my head, all at the same time—pictures of Jace laughing at me, turning practically the whole school against me, tripping me at the diner, stumbling into the alley and telling me he'd meant to humiliate me at the party, of him saying, _Your ugliness is putting a real damper on my drug-induced bliss, Gingerbread _in the hospital room.

And now he had to go and do a thing like this. He had to sit down next to me and tell me funny stories and make me laugh and pull me out of my depressed mood. We were supposed to hate each other. He was supposed to be mean to me. And if he was changing that attitude now, I had no choice but to believe he had some ulterior motive for doing so.

Jace's face hardened, almost as if he could read my mind—or, at least as if he had figured out that I just wanted to get away from him. "Fine," he said coolly. "See you around, Bloody Clary."

And with that he stood up and walked in the other direction, his hands stuffed casually into his pockets, his lope smooth and careful. Forever concerned about the way he looked, even when he was storming away from me in a temper.

I stood there and watched him go, trying to push away the sting his words had left me with, and the feeling of dread. I had just done something incredibly stupid. Not only was I doing the opposite of what Sebastian and I had agreed on, I was tempting him to turn even more against me, which put him in a position to tell the cops that I had been responsible for hurting him that night.

I turned and walked mechanically toward the front doors. Sometimes it felt like life would be a lot easier if I would just let it.

* * *

_Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! _


	21. Chapter 21

The next day at school, I did my best to avoid Jace. It was clear he was still mad about yesterday. When our eyes met in the halls, his would turn hard and cool, and a smirk would turn up the corner of his mouth. It wasn't until his coldness made a reappearance that I realized he hadn't been giving me nasty looks for quite some time now. Looked like I had just wrecked any progress I might have made with him with my rudeness yesterday.

He also seemed to be having a dandy time making comments about me to his friends. At least, that's what I assumed he was doing, based on the looks they would keep shooting me.

"Wow, he's really getting into it today," Simon said, watching Jace murmur something to his friends that made them laugh and glance in my direction. They stood crowded together in the hall, gathered across from my locker. Simon's eyebrows drew together in confusion. "What did you do to get his panties in a knot?"

I sighed and put my head in my hands. "We got in a fight," I mumbled.

"That's not unusual, is it?"

"No. But I think I genuinely offended him this time."

Simon looked at me, impressed. "What did you say?"

I didn't think Simon would like to hear that Jace was angry that I'd so abruptly left the civil conversation we'd been having. Or that we'd been in laughing fits on the floor yesterday. That would suggest, at least to Simon, friendship. And that would not make Simon a happy camper.

"It's not important," I muttered. Simon frowned at me, obviously sensing that something was up, but to my relief he didn't press it.

I should have used the opportunities Jace presented to me to smile and turn the other cheek and, well, flirt. That was my job. More than once, I saw Sebastian watching me intently, practically ordering me with his eyes to get on with it. But I couldn't bring myself to even look at Jace. Everything that had happened yesterday had me feeling strange around him, different—like something unnatural had passed between us.

At lunchtime, Sebastian casually slipped me a note as he was walking past my table, so discreetly that even Simon didn't notice. I opened it under the table and my stomach clenched uncomfortably.

_Are you going to do it or not? _

Sebastian was getting frustrated with me. But surely he didn't expect this to come easily for me? It didn't take a genius to see that I was not exactly experienced in this field of action. And the fact that it was Jace I was trying to suck up to didn't make it any better.

I was just about ready to scribble on the back of the note, _Not, _and pass it back to him when the bell rang for the end of lunch. As Simon and I were throwing away the remnants of our food, I glanced out the window and then did a double take.

Two cop cars parked outside. A few other students noticed and pointed them out to their friends. I felt a cold sweat break out across my forehead. Were they here for me? I could swear I saw someone in the passenger seat, turned and staring at the school. Right at me.

I turned away quickly, certain my face was white as a sheet, and my resolve strengthened again.

Jace was the only person who could possibly know who was behind his attack. I needed him to tell me. Even if that meant putting aside our rocky past, I had to suck it up and just do what I had to do.

I crumpled up Sebastian's note and tossed it in the trashcan. I wouldn't need to write a reply; he'd see my answer soon enough, acted out right in front of him.

* * *

I was jittery and impatient for the remainder of the school day. I drummed my fingers on the top of my desk, glancing at the clock every ten seconds or so, which only made each class go slower.

Finally, when the last bell rang, I sprang out of my seat and zoomed into the hall, my eyes already searching the crowd for Goldie Locks.

He wasn't hard to spot, surrounded by his fan club, tall and golden and, well, Jace.

I stuck out my chin and started toward him, shouldering past the people that stood around him like a cult around their leader and trying not to blush as all eyes turned to me.

I stopped in front of Jace and met his eyes. I could sense Sebastian watching me, but I didn't dare look at him.

"Can I talk to you?" I asked, forcing my voice to sound strong.

He looked startled by my intrusion into his inner circle. "I…guess," he said, probably too surprised to say no.

"Thanks," I said, and with that I grabbed him by the wrist and dragged him away from the others. I caught Aline daggers at me, and half expected her to blow fire out of her nose and fry me to a crisp.

Instead of flinching away from her sparking fury, I brushed past her with a curt, "'Scuze me." She looked positively insulted, like I had just spit in her face.

I towed Jace down the nearest hallway, which was virtually deserted, and released his wrist immediately.

"What do you want?" he asked, sounding wary and hostile.

I took a deep breath, prayed for strength, and said with as much sincerity as I could possibly inject into my voice, "I wanted to apologize."

His eyebrows shot up. "Apologize?" He seemed amazed.

"Yes. For the way I acted yesterday. I was in a bad mood and I had just had a pretty crappy day. I shouldn't have snapped at you like that. I'm sorry."

He looked speechless, a rare occurrence for him. "You're…sorry," he said, like he couldn't quite understand what I was saying.

I sighed impatiently. "Do I have to spell it out for you?" Realizing this might come across as unfriendly, I added, "I felt awful about it all day today and all of last night. It was totally uncalled for."

Jace continued to stare at me. After a long, awkward moment, he said, "I think you should check into a hospital. You're not well."

"I'm trying to be nice," I said, attempting and most likely failing to keep the annoyance out of my voice.

"It doesn't become you," he said.

I rolled my eyes. "Whatever. That's all I wanted to say." I turned to go, but he reached out and caught my arm. When I glanced at him, I was surprised to see concern on his face. Did he actually think I was sick?

But then he said, in a low voice, "You haven't told anyone about the party, have you? Or about…my condition?"

I looked at him for a long time. In all honesty, I had almost totally forgotten about my promise to keep the party a secret. A voice in my head pointed out that if I were to tell the cops that there had been a raging party going on at the Pandemonium Club that night, I would no longer be their only suspect. It would draw the attention away from me. I might even be forgotten in the scurry to find out who had attended the party, and who Jace had been with that night.

But I'd made a promise. It was probably unbelievably stupid of me, but I couldn't bring myself to tell.

"I haven't told anyone," I said.

I didn't miss the relief that flickered across his eyes, or the breath he let out. "Good."

And with that he turned and strode quickly away.

Well. At least I'd patched up the mistake I'd made yesterday—hopefully.

When I emerged from the hall and spotted Jace, once again surrounded by his swarm of followers, Sebastian caught my eye. He nodded slightly at me, a small smile on his lips, and I felt my cheeks growing warm. I turned away and headed in the other direction, hoping that I could master this flirting thing soon, before I found myself locked in a jail cell.

* * *

When I reached the diner, I was surprised to find Luke sitting at the counter, reading what looked like documents in a folder, his face furrowed in a frown. He didn't notice me until I was standing right next to him.

"Hey, Luke," I said, and he looked up, swiftly closing the folder so that the documents were concealed.

"Hello, Clary," he said with a warm smile, deftly shifting the folder underneath his arm. I didn't miss the movement. "How was school?"

I shrugged. "Same as it always is—torture."

Luke chuckled. "I was a little teacher's pet when I was in school," he said ruefully. "I don't think I ever disliked it."

"That sounds like you," I said, smiling. I looked meaningfully at the documents he had just hidden. "What's that you're reading?"

I saw the shift in his expression, and he sighed. "Should have known I couldn't get anything past you. They're just…some legal documents. I'm sprucing up my knowledge."

My gaze didn't waver from his. "Are you trying to build a case for me?" I asked softly.

Luke took off his reading glasses and rubbed his eyes. "Yes," he said after a long pause. "It shouldn't be too complicated. There's no proof against you, after all. It shouldn't be a problem."

"There's also no proof to support me," I pointed out. "And no one else was with him that night. At least, not after he left the party. Not that we know of."

"Party?" Luke echoed, his eyebrows drawing together.

Oh, crap. I had not meant to say that.

"I meant school," I said quickly, remembering what Simon had said about me being a terrible actress. I tried to keep my face smooth and innocent. "You know, saying school's a party, just making a joke." I attempted to smile, but Luke didn't return it.

His light eyes searched mine. "Clary," he said slowly. "If there's anything you aren't saying, you need to tell me. Anything could help."

"Hmm, nope," I said brightly. "Nothing I can think of. I'd better get to work."

I ducked around the counter and sloppily tied my apron on, keeping my back to him. I could have sworn I could feel his gaze on me, trying to sift through my thoughts and pick out the truth.

_What are you doing? _my head screamed at me. _Are you insane? Just tell him! Stop protecting Jace and cough it up! _

After Jace had just talked to me about it that afternoon? That just didn't seem right.

_Know what else doesn't seem right? Being interrogated by the cops because every other person that might have been responsible for Jace's injury was probably at that party. You had nothing to do with it. Who cares if you get them in trouble? They've made your life miserable the last few years, anyway._

I hurried into the back room, battling with my own brain and needing to escape Luke's scrutiny. That was all true. I didn't owe any of those people favors, least of all Jace. In fact, _he _owed _me _a favor. I had only agreed not to tell about the party if he would agree to do his best to remember the events that had occurred the night of his attack, and he hadn't exactly been doing a wonderful job upholding his end of the deal.

I plopped down onto a cardboard box with a heavy sigh. Why did things have to be so complicated?

I was being stupid by not telling. But I'd made a promise, and I hated going back on my promises.

A thought struck me, and I sat up straight. What if knowing about the party didn't hinder me, but helped me? I wouldn't have to tell anyone about it. I could deal with this on my own. All I had to do was find a guest list, and that would narrow it down, at least a little. Then with a little snooping, maybe I could find the one who was really responsible…

_Who are you, Nancy Drew? _that annoying voice scoffed in my head. _You aren't a private investigator. What makes you think you'll be able to solve this? _

I wasn't sure I would be able to solve it, but where was the harm in trying, really? Waiting for proof that could save my butt to drop from the sky wasn't helping me so far. Why not see what I could uncover?

Excitement started to build up inside of me. I could imagine myself finding Jace's attacker, my name cleared; I'd become the girl who had caught a criminal. That would change my life. I wouldn't be plain old Clary who worked in the diner anymore. I'd be something… more.

Trying not to grin stupidly, I stepped back out of the storage closet. The moment I set foot in the eating area, however, I stopped dead, the smile dropping instantaneously off my face.

Two police officers were standing just inside the door, and both of their eyes had just landed on me.

* * *

_In answer to a question, I update about every five days. During breaks from school, I'll update more often. Thanks so much for reading and reviewing! _


	22. Chapter 22

_Hey guys! So in an attempt to make the story go a little faster, I'm going to start combining chapters. So expect some longer ones! _

* * *

I stood frozen as we stared at each other. I didn't recognize either of them, which was a relief—I didn't want to deal with Mole Cop again. One of them, who wasn't much taller than me and sported a walrus mustache, leaned over and murmured something in his partner's ear. The other man, who looked bald under his hat but was relatively young, nodded slowly without taking his eyes off me.

I couldn't move. I couldn't breathe. I just stood there and waited for them to slap handcuffs on my wrists and lead me to the brig.

Instead, they both turned away and slid into a booth.

I tried to remember how to exhale. I found it hard to believe that two police officers would just happen to get a hankering for Chef Timothy's cooking during _my _shift. But if they weren't going to question me, what were they doing here?

I swallowed hard and walked rigidly over to Luke, who had gone back to scanning his documents and hadn't noticed the cops' arrival.

"Luke," I said, embarrassed when my voice came out hoarse. "Two policemen just came in."

He didn't whip around and exclaim, "Where?" as I'd feared. I should have known better with Luke, though. He calmly sat up, took off his glasses to wipe them on his shirt, and once he'd put them back on, he casually stood up and looked over at the booth the cops had settled in.

They were both staring at us.

"Do you want me to talk to them?" Luke murmured, looking away and adopting a relaxed stance that probably made it seem like we were discussing something trivial, like the weather. I, on the other hand, ruined that ruse by being wound as tightly as a screw.

"No," I said, trying to smooth out my expression like Luke. "It wouldn't do any good. You aren't going to convince them of anything, and you can't exactly ask them to leave."

"I could say that their presence makes you uncomfortable," he offered. He looked concerned for me. "I'm sure they'd understand."

"No," I said, more adamantly than before. "Is my mom around? Can I… I mean, I might ask if Mona can take that table."

Luke looked sympathetic, which only made me feel more ashamed of my cowardice. "She went out, I'm afraid," he said. "You could ask Mona if she'd switch."

"Yeah," I said without hope. "Good idea."

I waited for Mona behind the counter until she returned with a handful of dirty dishes, grumbling about how we needed a busboy.

"Mona?" I said, aiming to sound friendly, but there was a small tremor in my voice. "Would you mind taking my section for a little while? I… don't feel so well."

Mona scrutinized me for a moment before turning her gaze to the tables in my area. Her eyes widened when she saw the cops, and I could have sworn I saw panic flit through her eyes. "No way," she said, backing away as if she feared I was going to force her to serve the officers with my brute strength. "I'm not serving any cops."

I watched her curiously until she ducked into the kitchen. Maybe I wasn't the only one who preferred to avoid police officers.

Looked like I was stuck serving them. Just when it seemed like the situation couldn't get any worse, the door opened and in poured Jace and his entourage, punctual as always. It was only when they sat down that I realized the cops had chosen the booth right next to Jace's usual one.

Seeing Jace so close to the men that were probably watching me to see if I had any murderous tendencies made me feel sick. He was so close to finding out the truth, and I could not let that happen. I didn't want to know what he would do with that kind of information. Would he use it to get me arrested? Or would he just torment me with it for the rest of my life? Neither option sounded appealing.

I walked mechanically to the cops' table, wishing they could at least have come undercover and dressed in normal clothing. Although, maybe this was the point—they wanted to give me a little scare, remind me that I wasn't off the hook for what happened that night.

"Can I take your order?" I asked, trying to force a smile and failing.

"Yes," the bald cop said at once, his eyes boring into me. "I'll just have a coffee."

"Me, too," the other one added. He gave me a look that might be interpreted as pitying, though I couldn't be sure.

I nodded, my mouth feeling suddenly dry, before moving on to Jace's table.

My eyes went right to Sebastian. His expression was serious. He must have noticed the cops sitting a booth away. He looked like he was trying to tell me something with his eyes, but I'd never been very good at reading people, so I just looked down at my notepad and waited.

To my surprise and relief, no one seemed concerned with throwing their usual barbed comments at me. They hardly seemed to notice I was there. They managed to mumble their orders before turning back to one another, all talking in animated voices.

I took my time writing down their orders, curious about what could be important enough to make them ignore a juicy victim.

"Remember when Magnus started dancing on the table?" said Aline with a smirk. "That guy is such a freak."

"I don't think I've ever seen Isabelle that embarrassed," another guy agreed, snickering. "Did she say anything about it afterward, Jace?"

"I don't know," he said after a pause. "I was in the hospital."

His tone was dry, not angry, but everyone instantly fell silent.

They were talking about Isabelle's party. My heart jolted. Didn't they know they were sitting a few feet away from a couple of police officers?

I glanced at Sebastian, waiting for him to do something to shut them up, but he was leaning back against the booth, his dark eyes watching every face. It occurred to me that he might have been wondering if any of these people could be behind Jace's attack, too; he hadn't canceled anyone out, and I wasn't about to, either.

"That night was so fun," Aline said, all but batting her eyelashes at Jace. "You wouldn't dance with me, though."

Jace smiled at her, and for some reason, that annoyed me. "I was wasted, Aline," he reminded her. "I would have passed out on top of you if you made me go out on that dance floor."

Jace's friends laughed, and Aline didn't seem like the idea of Jace falling on top of her was too repellant in her mind.

Finally, one of them seemed to notice that I was still standing there. I hadn't realized it myself, honestly. I'd been listening so intently to the conversation that I'd forgotten I hadn't been invited in.

"Can we help you?" one of Jace's friends whose name I'd never bothered to learn sneered, looking me up and down, his eyes lingering on my slightly stained apron. "We don't need extra ketchup, thanks."

Aline fixed me with a disdainful look. "We shouldn't make fun," she chided the others, her tone instantly warning me that she wasn't trying to defend me. "It's not her fault that she's so poor she has to work as a waitress at a dumpy little diner." The others guffawed and looked expectantly at me for a reaction.

Immediately, I felt my temper start to throb. I dug my fingernails into my notepad and tried to look like her comment hadn't just seriously pissed me off.

"My dad said that if I'm ever in a position where I need to work in a trash heap, he'd lend me money himself just to keep me from being humiliated." She had a mean glint in her eye, which told me she wasn't planning on shutting up any time soon.

"Must be nice to have Daddy pay for everything in life," I said without thinking. "You haven't lifted a finger since birth, have you?"

Aline's eyes widened fractionally. "_Excuse _me?" Then her face twisted a little bit, and I knew she was mad. I expected her to come up with another waitress insult, or just to tell me to get lost, but I was _not _prepared for what she said next.

"At least _my_ dad isn't in prison," she said cruelly.

No one laughed.

I looked at Aline in shock. "What…"

"My dad's a lawyer," she said offhandedly. "In fact, he was there when the judge put your dad away. He said it was pathetic to watch, really."

I took a deep, shaky breath, trying to control the anger that was bubbling inside of me.

I didn't know anything about my dad. My mom wouldn't talk about him. Whenever I used to ask, she would just give me a sad smile and say, "We were a mistake. But I'm glad I met him, or else I wouldn't have had you."

I'd always imagined him to be working somewhere abroad, maybe even dead, in a position that kept him from contacting me. He wasn't in jail. Aline was bluffing.

"You're lying," I said. The tremor in my voice was pure rage.

She was staring me down, a small, triumphant smile on her face. "Hmm, what was his name again? It was something totally bizarre… Oh yeah! Valentine, or something like that."

I felt like I'd been punched in the stomach. _Valentine. _Like the name of the diner. The name my mom would never explain.

I couldn't believe I was finding this out from a girl like Aline. She had to be lying.

"That would explain why you attacked Jace," Aline added. "Like father, like daughter, I suppose."

That was when I lost it.

I really should have exercised some more self-control. I could have walked away right then without giving her the satisfaction of getting a reaction out of me, or I could have come up with some stinging retort that she couldn't recover from.

But apparently, I wasn't level-headed enough to do those things.

I leaned across the guy sitting between the two of us and slugged her. Right in the face.

I had sort of been going for a slap, a nice smack to make her cheek smart and to shock her into silence, but somewhere along the way my fingers made themselves into a fist, and the slap turned into a punch. And my target turned from her cheek to her nose.

Blood started gushing at once, and she reeled back into Jace with a shriek that could easily get her a part in a horror flick.

"What the hell?" she screamed, bringing her hand up to her nose. She took one look at the blood that came away on her fingers and freaked out.

I hadn't anticipated her reaction. Sure, the scream was only to be expected, but the bursting into tears part caught me off guard.

I didn't care, though. I didn't care that someone had grabbed me from behind and was pulling me away from the table, as if afraid I was going to lunge again. I didn't care that Aline's friends were giving me looks that ranged from fearful to shocked to furious. I didn't even care that the cops had leaped up from their booth and had planted themselves between me and Aline, like they thought I was going to go for her jugular.

I didn't care about all of that because I was too busy fighting against the black rage that was rushing through me like a flooded river. I was so angry I could feel myself trembling; the hand I'd used to slug Aline was still curled in a fist, my knuckles smarting from the blow.

I could hear Luke murmuring urgently in my ear—he must have been the one who was currently restraining me—"Calm down, Clary. Just calm down. You're fine."

But I wasn't fine. I was furious. The only thing going through my head was, _She's lying. She doesn't know my dad. She's lying. _

The worst part was, I wasn't sure if I believed myself.

"All right," the cop with the walrus mustache said, standing in front of me and making calming gestures with his hands. The bald one was talking to Aline, asking if she was all right. She kept crying, wailing more like, leaving her friends to comfort her and shoot murderous glares in my direction. "Okay. No need to get worked up. We can sort this out."

"She's nuts!" Aline shrieked. "She attacked me for no reason! I'm her next victim! Search her for weapons!"

If I hadn't been so angry, I would have rolled my eyes.

I looked past the walrus moustached cop. My eyes landed on Sebastian. I expected him to look concerned, or even surprised, but he had his head rested against the back of the booth, his eyes closed. As usual, I couldn't tell what he was thinking.

Then I looked at Jace. I thought he would have reacted more strongly than he was—something like leaping to his feet and cussing at me, defending his girlfriend's honor. Instead, he was looking from me to Aline and back again, and I could have sworn he was trying not to laugh.

"Clarissa Fray?" The bald cop had joined us. He looked serious.

So they really had been here to keep an eye on me after all. How else would they know my name?

"What?" I said, probably more ungraciously than was called for under the circumstances.

"We're going to ask you to come with us," he said.

"Where?" I asked stupidly.

"To the station," he replied without missing a beat.

"Because I punched that…" I swallowed back the word I'd been thinking of. "…girl?"

The two officers exchanged a look. "Among other things," the bald one finally said, making my stomach clench painfully.

"Hold on, Officer," Luke protested, putting his hands on my shoulder and squeezing. I wasn't sure if he was trying to reassure me, or warn me to shut up and let him do the talking. "Is that really necessary?"

"I'm afraid so."

"She's only a kid," Luke said. "Kids get into brawls all the time. I think taking her to the station is a little extreme."

The moustache cop shifted uncomfortably. I realized that they didn't want to say the chief reason for taking me with them—that this was about that Friday night.

Luke lowered his voice. Everyone in the diner was watching the scene now, shocked and curious, and probably straining for every word. "Can we do this another time?" he asked. "I think her mother should be present."

The walrus moustache hesitated, but the bald officer said immediately, "We have orders."

"She is a minor," Luke pointed out, a tiny bit of frost creeping into his usually warm voice. "Doesn't a legal guardian have to be notified, or present, at something like this?"

"When will her mother be back?" the bald officer asked.

"I'm not sure," Luke said swiftly. "It could be late."

"Call her," the officer said bluntly. "If she can't make it, you'll have to do. I'm afraid this is rather urgent."

My anger was slowly fading away, leaving plenty of room for other emotions to set in, like horror, embarrassment, and dismay.

I was about to get arrested in front of all these people. Even if they didn't march me out in handcuffs, everyone would know where I was headed, based on the fact that I was being flanked by two cops. I didn't want to imagine what Sebastian would think. Jace might even catch on that it wasn't just rumors around school that I was the one who'd attacked him, but rumors around the police station, too.

There was a tense stretch of silence in which Luke and the bald cop stared each other down. Finally, Luke said, "I'll call."

My heart dropped even further, if that were even possible. My mom would probably just make the situation worse.

"Come on, honey," the moustached officer said kindly, taking my arm and leading me toward the door. Even though I didn't resist, he kept a firm hold on me, making me realize that even though they hadn't slapped cuffs on my wrist, I still didn't have any choice about going.

I felt like my skin had caught fire as I walked mechanically out of the diner, feeling the gaze of everyone in the building fixed on me. I couldn't bear to even glance over at Jace's table. I could hear Aline sniffling and whimpering, and my fury threatened to rear its ugly head again. I pushed it down.

The moustache cop introduced himself as Officer Ward. He opened the door to his cruiser and let me slide in. I sank low in the seat so that I couldn't be seen through the window, but I still felt like everyone in the diner was peering out at me.

_Well, _I thought. _This sucks. _

* * *

On the ride to the station, my self-pity quickly wore itself out, replaced with anger. Not at the officers, not even at Aline, but at myself.

I knew better than to cause a scene like that. Especially with two officers sitting about five feet away. How could I have been so stupid? I'd known that Aline was just trying to provoke me, get a reaction out of me. I'd been dealing with that kind of thing for a lot of my life.

And this time, I hadn't been able to handle it. I'd snapped. I had actually punched someone, something I could safely say I'd never done in my life. The closest I'd ever gotten to violence was when I slapped Simon's arm when he irritated me. But he was used to my abuse.

I had given that girl a bloody nose. I hadn't even thought twice about it. It had been like some instinct had taken over. I'd pulled my fingers into a fist and swung, and just like that it, I'd done it.

One of the worst parts was, even now, when I thought back to it, I still got fierce satisfaction from the look on her face, the way it felt to use her as an outlet for my frustration and anger. Did that mean I was a terrible person, for hitting someone as physically defenseless as Aline and enjoying it?

I shouldn't have done it. But I'd never been so _angry _before in my entire life. I'd practically been seeing red at the edges of my vision. I had felt like I was going to explode.

She was wrong. My father wasn't locked up in prison.

But how could she have known his name? Had she taken a stab in the dark and just guessed that the name of the diner corresponded to my own dad's name? Had someone told her? Or was she really telling the truth?

The police car pulled in front of the station. We were in time to see a few other officers wrestling a guy out of another cruiser. He was wearing handcuffs, and yet was still trying to throw punches. He was fighting hard, but the officers were stronger. They all but dragged him into the station.

I felt suddenly sick.

Luke, who had ridden in back with me, reached over and took my hand briefly. Then he got out of the car, and I followed, feeling as if someone had welded stones to my feet. They felt too heavy to move.

Officer Ward and Officer Hanson—the bald cop, who had introduced himself on the ride over—took up positions on either side of me as we entered the building. I felt like a genuine criminal, being escorted in like that. I half expected them to seize my arms and wrestle me in like the man we'd just seen.

And to make matters worse, my mom was on her way over.

Talk about nightmarish.

"Right this way," Officer Ward said pleasantly, leading us toward a door. I tried not to look at the other officers seated at their desks, watching my every move. What did they think of me right now? Did they wonder what crime I'd committed? Did all of these people know that I was a suspect for assault?

I couldn't look at them. I was too ashamed.

"In here," Officer Hanson said, stepping aside and allowing us to enter the small officer ahead of him. He closed the door behind him, and I felt like the resolute bang was like the mallet of a judge, sentencing me to my fate.

"All right, Clary," Officer Ward said. Maybe I should have been bothered that he spoke so familiarly to me, but he said it so kindly that I didn't care. "Looks like we have a few things to discuss."

"I thought we agreed we'd wait for her mother," Luke said calmly, but with an edge to his voice.

Hanson gave him a long look before nodding. "You're right. We'll wait. Excuse me for a moment." He left the office abruptly, leaving us alone with Ward.

"Can I get you anything?" He directed the question mostly to Luke. "Coffee?"

"I'm fine, thank you." There was tension in Luke's voice. We both stood awkwardly by the door, made uneasy by our surroundings. Ward gestured to the chairs facing the table that took up most of the room. "Won't you sit down?"

Luke hesitated, and then sat. I followed suit, though I sat on the very edge of the chair, jittery with nerves.

Was this one of those interrogation rooms you always see in movies? I wondered. Where they shine the light on you and yell at you until you give them answers? The sick feeling in my stomach worsened, and I hoped I didn't puke on the police station floor. That probably wouldn't earn me brownie points.

About ten minutes later, my mom showed up.

I had kind of been expecting her to burst into the room, breathing fire, maybe stomp around and rant for a few minutes. Instead, she was escorted in by Hanson, her face serious but composed. Luke practically leaped to his feet at the sight of her, something that would have made me smile at any other time. Right now, I didn't think I had the capacity to smile.

"Luke," my mom greeted him softly, reaching out and touching his arm. Her eyes fell on me, and I tried not to squirm under her gaze. But instead of rebuking me, she just said, "Hello, Clary."

"Hi," I mumbled, dropping my eyes.

"All right," a terribly familiar voice rumbled from the doorway. My head snapped around and I saw Mole Cop, in the flesh, entering the room, his eyes on the stack of papers in his hand. "Clarissa Fray."

I didn't like the way he said my name, like to him it meant nothing more than trouble and irritation. I was a thorn in his side, a problem that kept on popping up, something he was eager to get rid of.

I tried not to glower as he sat down across from us at the table, without looking up.

"I hear you had a little trouble today," he said, clearly addressing me.

I didn't answer.

He flipped through his papers. I wondered if Hanson had filed a report or something during the time he'd been gone. "It says here that you attacked a girl, unprovoked."

I felt my mom stiffen on my other side. Like me, she was perched on the tip of her chair.

"I didn't attack her," I said, looking up and fixing my eyes on Mole Cop. He kept his eyes down, impassive. "I just…punched her." It still sounded bad. "And it wasn't unprovoked."

"Hmm," was all he said.

I hurried to explain. "She was insulting my family." I couldn't look at my mom as I said it. I took a deep breath. "She said things about…my father."

Now I had Mole Cop's attention. His eyes swiveled to my face. "Your father." His voice was strangely flat. I could feel tension radiating off of my mom, and even Luke had gone rigid.

"Yes."

"What did she say exactly?"

I didn't want to say it. If I said it and they confirmed it was true, I was afraid I'd freak out again. I couldn't risk that.

But I'd picked my way around the truth enough with the cops. If I kept tangling myself up in more lies and half-truths, it was going to come back to bite me. So I said, my voice barely audible, "She said he was in prison."

Silence met my words. I couldn't bring myself to look at anyone, especially my mom.

"Do you really think attacking her was the way to handle it?" Mole Cop said, his voice eerily calm.

I gritted my teeth. "I didn't attack her. It was one hit."

"Fine. Do you think hitting her was the way, then?"

I hated the way he was talking to me, like I was a little child. "No," I said stonily. "I acted without thinking."

Mole Cop locked eyes with me. "That wouldn't be the first time you've acted without thinking," he said levelly, "would it?"

I heard Officer Ward clear his throat uncomfortably from where he stood by the door. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Luke shift in his seat, his hands curling around the arms of his chair.

My mom, however, was the only one who spoke up.

"What are you implying?" she said, her voice sharp. I peeked at her and saw that she looked nothing short of furious, and something else…afraid?

"Nothing," Mole Cop said, but I didn't believe him. "I'm just saying that your daughter seems prone to recklessness."

"Clary is _not _reckless." My mom's voice held steel.

"That's not what her actions today indicate," Mole Cop replied.

"That girl was totally out of line saying something like that," my mom said fiercely. "You can't say things like that to other people. It's none of her business and it was cruel."

I felt like I couldn't breathe. Was this a confirmation that what Aline had said was true?

"Be that as it may," Mole Cop allowed, "she shouldn't have hit her. It was inappropriate."

"She lost her temper," my mom snapped, looking like she was in serious danger of doing the same. "Is that a crime now? Kids get into fights all the time. It's hardly worthy of the _Twilight Zone."_

"Her prior behavior doesn't allow us to overlook this," Mole Cop answered. I didn't like how calm he was being, so matter-of-fact, like he had already won this battle and he was just waiting until my mom realized that.

"Prior behavior?" The dangerous tone in my mom's voice would have made me quail, but Mole Cop didn't flinch.

"The events of Friday, October twelfth, of course," he said.

My mom shut her eyes briefly, and then opened them, slowly. "Are you outright accusing her of being responsible for that boy's accident?"

Mole Cop's eyes didn't waver from my mom's. "You have to admit," he said, his voice silky, like he was trying to win her over with his overflowing charm, "all signs point to her. She was the only one on the scene that night. She was covered in his blood. It has been confirmed that there is animosity between them. She—"

"Called 911 when she found him," my mom interjected, her voice rising a little. "Pulled him to the side of the road where he could be found. Waited with him until the ambulance came, and then sat in the hospital all night until she found out he was okay. Is that how the person who stabbed him would behave?"

Mole Cop looked at her, and for one blindingly hopeful moment, I thought she might have gotten through to him. But then he said, still as calm as can be, "We've decided that there's a chance it was an accident. She might have acted in the heat of the moment, as she did today, hurt Jonathon Wayland, and then was overcome with guilt. She saved his life, because if he died, it would be on her head."

If my voice hadn't deserted me in that moment, I might have denied everything he said, with the help of a few colorful adjectives. But instead I just gaped at him, unable to form coherent words, or thoughts.

If they explained it that way, that took away the one saving grace I had—the fact that I had been the one to call an ambulance and save his life. If they thought I'd done it out of guilt to keep myself from becoming a murderer…

I was about to start hyperventilating.

"That," my mom said coldly, "is the most ridiculous thing I've heard in my life."

"We can't discount any of what little information we have right now," said Mole Cop.

"She didn't do it."

Mole Cop's eyes swept over her, calculating. "We have no proof of that."

"You have no proof that she did it, either," Luke said quietly, speaking for the first time.

"The fact that she was the only one there, and that Mr. Wayland can't tell us who was behind it, is proof."

"I didn't do it," I whispered. None of them seemed to hear me.

"She's seventeen," my mom said viciously. "She's an artist. She's the kindest, most thoughtful person I've ever known, and you can ask anyone that. She couldn't hurt a fly. And I wouldn't let anyone hurt her. She wasn't behind this, and there is not a doubt in my heart that that is the truth. You leave my daughter alone."

Mole Cop lowered his voice. "You have to admit, Ms. Fray, that there has been some..._excitement _much like this in your family before. We can't help but question the innocence of _his _daughter."

She stood up abruptly. "We're leaving," she said icily. I didn't think that was her call to make, but Mole Cop just looked at her, his expression unreadable.

I stood up uncertainly, and Luke did too, putting a hand on my back and pushing me gently toward the door. Hanson and Ward followed us out of the office, escorting us to the exit.

So at least this meant that I wasn't going to be arrested on the spot. No matter what Mole Cop said about my presence being proof, I guess it wasn't enough after all.

That didn't make me feel much better.

* * *

_Have you ever just completely lost your temper like Clary did? I did once, and I ended up accidentally slamming a shovel into my foot; I had a big-ass bruise there for the longest time. _

_Thanks so much for reading and reviewing! _


	23. Chapter 23

_We're starting to get into some more Jace and Clary interaction here! About time, huh? We've got some romantic chapters in the near future, so stay tuned! ;)_

* * *

We took a taxi from the police station. My mom had the driver drop me off at our apartment while she and Luke went back to the diner. I imagined them talking about me in low, serious voices, wondering if I was going to be put away in the slammer for this.

I couldn't think. My head hurt. Some defense mechanism had blocked all dangerous thoughts from invading my mind, until I could sufficiently deal with them. So I was free to lie down on my bed and stare blankly at the ceiling.

I don't know how long I was there, my head empty, my heart aching with an emotion I couldn't bear to dwell on. Eventually, my hand moved by itself, slipping my phone out of my pocket and scrolling through my contacts list until I found the one person I could actually talk to.

I held the phone to my ear, still numb, and waited.

"Clary?" Simon picked up right away, as usual. "Are you okay? I heard you got in a fight at the diner, and the cops took you away."

He sounded so insanely worried, so compassionate, concerned for my well-being, that the wall I'd pulled up around myself cracked. I'd been keeping everything from him lately, it seemed—I hadn't even bothered to tell him that the cops suspected me of armed assault. He was always there for me, always telling me everything, and I'd been pushing him away. I'd been longing for someone who could understand what I was going through, and all along I'd been avoiding the one person who could possibly get it.

A terrible pressure was building in my throat, and my vision blurred with tears. "Can you come over?" I whispered, my voice shaking as I tried to control the emotion that was choking me. "I have something to tell you."

There was a brief pause on the other line, and for a second I was afraid he was going to refuse. But then he said softly, "I'll be right over."

I hung up and let my phone slip out of my hand, onto the bed next to me. Then I spent the next ten minutes looking at the ceiling, trying to control the feelings that were throttling me from the inside.

I hated crying, especially in front of other people. Maybe it was because of the first day of ninth grade, when Jace embarrassed me in front of everyone and had me in tears. I considered that one of the worst moments of my life, although after all the events that had occurred recently, it was slowly making its way down the "Horrible Memories List."

I didn't even want Simon to see me cry, as close as we were, but right now I just couldn't be alone, tears or not. And I had to tell him the things I'd been keeping from him. He might hate me, but as long as he knew, I'd be okay.

Maybe.

He buzzed up to my apartment, and I scrambled out of bed to let him in. Less than minute later, he was knocking at the door; practically pounding on it actually. That was just like Simon, driving himself nuts whenever anything was remotely wrong with me.

I opened the door and tried to smile, but it probably looked more like a grimace.

Neither of us said anything at first. He just looked at me, his dark eyes taking in everything. Then, wordlessly, he opened his arms, and I went into them without hesitation.

I didn't let myself make any sound, but he'd know I was crying anyway. He'd probably have a wet spot on his shirt from my tears. My shoulders shook a little bit as I tried to fight back everything that wanted to pour out of me.

We stood there for a while, saying nothing. He kept his arms around me, occasionally rubbing my back or my shoulder, albeit a little awkwardly, and I couldn't help thinking, _I don't deserve this. _Simon was the best friend anyone could ask for, that and more, and I hadn't even had the decency to take him into my confidence.

After a few minutes, once I'd expelled the worst of my tears, I pulled back, rubbing my palms against my eyes and letting out a long, shaky sigh.

"Thanks," I whispered.

"Anytime." He kept his eyes on my face, waiting. He wasn't going to force me to say anything; he was going to wait for when I was ready. I really, really didn't deserve him as my friend.

"There's something I haven't been telling you," I said, my voice coming out a little hoarse.

"Are you cheating on me?" he joked, though it was halfhearted.

I took his hand and led him to the couch, sitting down next to him. Then I raked my hair behind my ears and muttered to myself, "I don't know how to start."

"Okay, now this is really starting to look like a bad breakup scene," Simon said, eyes wide. "You aren't going to tell me that we should see other people, are you?"

This time, he got a smile out of me. "You remember the night I found Jace behind the diner?"

Simon instantly grew serious at the mention of that night. "Hard to forget."

"I haven't told you everything about that." I averted my eyes, suddenly afraid to see anger on his face, or worse, hurt.

He waited. The silence stretched on for a good fifteen seconds before I summoned enough courage to go on.

"I'm a suspect," I blurted in a rush. "I was the only one seen with Jace that night, and the police think that I'm the one who stabbed him."

Simon opened his mouth as if to say something, but no sound came out. He stared.

I waited anxiously for him to regain his voice. When he did, his words came out slow, like he was trying to puzzle it out in his mind. "The police think you're the one who attacked Jace?" he said, eyebrows knitting together. "But…you saved him."

"Yeah, well, the cops think that I did that out of guilt. Since I went and punched Aline today, they think that I'm prone to 'reckless behavior.'" I barked out a humorless laugh.

"Hold on." Simon shook his head, still trying to wrap his head around the concept. "They think _you_ attacked Jace?"

I just nodded, forcing myself to stay patient. It was a lot to take in.

Simon blinked, and then, to my utter astonishment, he burst into laughter.

At first, I thought his mind had snapped, and I was alarmed. He doubled over, almost rolling off the couch, grabbing my arm as if to support himself. "They think," he gasped through his giggles, "that _you_, Clary Fray, barely over five feet tall, _stabbed _someone?"

The situation wasn't very funny to me. But as he continued to snort, I started to smile, too, and then I was laughing. It was no laughing matter, considering I could be thrown into jail in a few days' time, but it felt so good to laugh, just like it had the night this whole mess started, and my mom and I had cracked up for no reason.

It was a definite improvement over crying.

Once we had composed ourselves, Simon grew serious again. "Why didn't you tell me before?"

"I didn't want you getting involved." I couldn't look at him again. "I didn't want them thinking you were my…accomplice."

He snorted. "Come on, Clary. That's ridiculous."

"It isn't," I insisted, a little offended. "I was protecting you!"

"No, you were making things harder on both of us," he said sternly. He sighed and sank back against the couch. "So this is why you haven't been talking to me as much lately? Because you've been 'protecting me'?" He made air quotes with his fingers.

"I haven't been avoiding you," I said, though I wondered as I said it if I had been, unintentionally.

"Did you think I was going to judge you?" His gaze had softened. "I don't believe you were behind it for a second, Clary. I never would."

"I know," I whispered, leaning my head against his arm. "I don't know what I was thinking."

"You weren't," he said helpfully, and I laughed weakly.

We sat in companionable silence for a while, and it dawned on me then that I felt so much better having told Simon. I'd been afraid that he would look at me differently, wonder if I really had been the one to pull a knife on Jace, but I should have known better. Simon would stick by me through thick and thin, no matter what.

"There's something else," I said after a while, my voice quiet. "The reason I punched Aline today."

I felt Simon go still against me, listening.

"She said…" I swallowed. "She said my dad was in prison."

Simon scoffed. "Aline's head is full of hot air. She doesn't know anything."

"But she knew his name."

"Do _you _know his name?"

"She said it was Valentine." When Simon didn't say anything, I added, "The name of my mom's diner. I don't think that could be a coincidence."

"Maybe the diner came with the name, and she decided to roll with it," Simon suggested, but I knew him well enough to hear the doubt in his voice.

"Why wouldn't my mom tell me?" I said softly. "Does she think I can't handle it?"

"Maybe she thought you'd be ashamed," he said after a pause.

I opened my mouth to argue, but realized he was right. Maybe my mom hadn't wanted me to know because she was afraid I would be ashamed of my own father.

I groaned and buried my face in my hands. "Why does everything have to be so complicated?"

"That's the way things are, Clary. When you look up 'earth' in the dictionary, the definition is 'complicated.'"

I gave a small laugh and then lifted my head, looking him in the eye. "Thank you," I said.

This time, he was the one to look away, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. "For what?"

"Coming over here. Listening. Not hating me for keeping this from you."

His face turned red. "Yeah, well, that's what best friends do," he said.

I put my arms around his neck and hugged him. I felt him go a little rigid with surprise, as if he hadn't been expecting it. I guess I wasn't the huggiest person in the world.

When I pulled back, he was blushing even harder than before.

"So," I said conversationally, trying my best to sound normal. "What's it like having a could-be criminal as your best friend?"

"I was about to ask you the same question," Simon said seriously.

I stared at him, speechless.

Then his solemn expression broke into a grin. "You're so gullible, Fray."

I shoved his shoulder. "Shut it, Lewis."

* * *

Facing school didn't sound very appealing. Just like everything else, the story about my "attack" on Aline would have spread swiftly through the school, until everyone who breathed knew about it. I hoped someone had been there to do damage control, and keep her from twisting the tale to sound like I was a crazed maniac and she was the sweet, innocent victim.

Simon seemed to sense my anxiety, because he waited for me outside the school, even though the October wind was chilly. When I arrived, he fell into step beside me, puffing out his chest and doing his best to look intimidating. I was touched that he wanted to protect me, but his lankiness, glasses, and geeky personality kind of ruined his attempt at being threatening.

Only when we had to part ways for our separate classes did I really appreciate how much Simon's presence comforted me. He gave me a solemn salute before veering away from me and joining the tide of students hurrying by in the hall.

I avoided eye contact as I gathered my books from my locker and hurried to first period. I felt like everyone was staring at me, whispering; it was a feeling that had grown familiar over the past few weeks. Once again, I noticed how some people shied away from me, like I was dangerous.

When I reached my classroom, I went straight to the back of the room. I wanted to avoid being stared at throughout the entire period. As other students trickled in, I didn't miss the way they glanced at me and purposely selected a seat far away.

Before, people had stayed away from me because if they were associated with me, they might find themselves on Jace's bad side. Now, they avoided me like I was a disease, like whatever insanity I'd caught would infect them, too.

I found myself scowling as the front rows filled up first, an anomaly in this class. Did they think that if they sat near me, I'd knife them in the back?

There were still a few seats open that weren't near me, so I was surprised when I saw someone take the desk directly to my right out of the corner of my eye. I glanced over, and felt a little jolt.

I knew who he was, of course. Everyone knew about him. I think Magnus Bane went through life doing his best to get noticed. He didn't always attract the best kind of attention, but he didn't seem to care. He didn't acknowledge the names people called him, or the insults they threw after him down the hall. He was outrageous with his appearance—he wore more glitter than any girl in the school, and his hair looked like he went to painstaking measures to perfect it each morning.

I couldn't say what I felt about his sitting next to me, exactly. It was a relief that someone didn't consider me a germ, but when someone like Magnus Bane singles you out like that, you can't help but be a little nervous.

He looked over and caught me staring. "Hey," he greeted with a nod, as if we sat next to each other every day.

"Hi," I managed to say.

His eyes, which were a strange yellow-green color that had to be the result of contacts, appraised me curiously. "So you're the girl everyone's been talking about," he said, and I felt my cheeks heat up a little.

"Yeah," I said defiantly. "You could say that."

He tipped his head to one side, still studying me. "Is it true you knifed Jace Wayland?"

The question was so blunt that at first I couldn't find the words to answer. "No!" I finally exclaimed.

Magnus sighed. "Pity. I was hoping you could give me a few pointers on how to kill asshats."

He saw my expression and added, "I'm kidding."

"Oh. Right." I turned toward the front of the room, disconcerted.

He didn't say anything else for a few seconds, but then he started up again. "Then did you fight with Aline Penhallow?"

I clenched my jaw and considered ignoring him. But he sounded so genuinely interested, not like he was looking for gossip to spread, but like it would quench his own curiosity. I didn't get that from a lot of people. So I glanced at him and said, "Not really. We didn't fight. I punched her and she sat there and cried."

I was a little startled to see the delight flare up in his eyes. "How much damage did you do?" he asked in a low voice, leaning closer.

"Just a bloody nose."

"_Just _a bloody nose? You say it like it's nothing," he exclaimed. "I bet she's never felt a good hit in her life. Did she scream?"

"A couple times," I answered, allowing myself a small smile.

"Sobbing?"

"Oh, yeah."

His eyes gleamed. He was eating this up. "What did Wayland do?"

I frowned. "He looked…kind of like he was trying not to laugh."

The teacher walked in at that moment and Magnus was forced to give up the conversation. He leaned back in his seat, looking disappointed that he couldn't ask for more details.

I decided that I liked Magnus Bane.

* * *

Unfortunately, not everyone reacted to the scene with Aline as positively as Magnus had.

Her friends seemed bent on making my life miserable. They traveled in a swarm and always changed direction when they saw me, to make sure they mowed me over. They shoved me into lockers and tripped me when I walked past their desks. They whispered about me behind their hands and burst into giggles, shooting me evil looks.

Then they started spreading rumors.

They embellished the Aline story way more than was necessary, in my opinion. At first it was bearable. They said that I dragged her out of the booth, pushed her down, and starting kicking her. Then that changed to throwing a chair at her. And then it all came down to the worst:

They said that I pulled a knife on her, the same one I'd used on Jace. Like any of them could know what blade he'd been stabbed with, or if I was the one who'd done it.

They managed to spread those rumors around school in the length of half a school day. Simon tried to console me, saying that they were stupid, stuck up girls that would die alone, but it didn't make me feel better.

When I got to history, I was in a foul mood. And seeing Jace didn't make things any better.

He was already seated in his usual chair. He normally made a point of showing up right as the late bell rang, so this was unusual. Maybe he'd wanted to make sure that I wouldn't steal his desk again.

When he noticed me walking into the classroom, he stopped talking midsentence, and our eyes locked.

I waited for him to make some stinging comment, to ask me how I was enjoying being a homicidal maniac, but he just looked at me, and I looked back at him, neither of us saying anything.

Maybe I should have felt grateful that he was restraining himself from making a barb, but I didn't. In fact, I felt angry when I looked at him. This was his fault, after all. All of this. Why did he have to hate me? Why did he have to go out of his way to ruin my life? Things would be so much easier if we could just pretend the other didn't exist.

If he would just remember what happened that night, this would all be fixed. He could tell the cops who was really behind the attack, and I would be off the hook. But no, he was too busy spiting everyone to do something like that.

I marched to the back of the room, going right past his desk and even giving him the opportunity to trip me, but he didn't. I would have welcomed the provocation; throwing another punch didn't sound too bad right then.

I didn't listen to any of Mr. Tasker's lecture. I was too busy glaring at the back of Jace's head, my anger growing with each passing minute, until by the end of class I was about ready to explode.

He didn't look back at me as he gathered his stuff and left with his friends after the bell rang. He didn't see me follow him, keeping my distance so they wouldn't look back and notice me, but not letting him get too far away.

When he reached his locker and parted ways with his friends, I pounced.

I grabbed his arm, making his head snap around and his reflexes to cause him to jerk away from me.

"What the hell, Gingerbread?" he said angrily. "You scared me."

"We need to talk," I hissed.

He glanced around, maybe looking for someone to save him, but none of his posse were nearby. He heaved a sigh and said, "Fine. But make it fast."

"Not here. Come on." I seized his arm again and dragged him after me, ignoring his protests.

I took him to the first door I saw that didn't belong to a classroom. I flung it open, pushed him inside, and closed it behind us.

Only after we were inside did I realize it was the janitor's closet that Isabelle had threatened me in. And then, a second later, my rebellious mind wondered if this was the same closet where Jace had walked in on Mr. Tasker and Miss Haynes, and the absurd urge to laugh bubbled up inside of me. I pushed it away quickly.

Jace leaned himself against the shelves of cleaning supplies, fixing me with an impatient look. "What do you want? I'm going to be late for class."

"We both know you don't care if you're late," I scoffed.

"Yeah, and we both know that you _do. _So what's the deal?"

"The _deal _is," I said, stepping closer and poking him in the chest, making his eyes widen with surprise. "That _you _were supposed to think long and hard about what happened the night of the party, and in return, _I _was going to keep said party and _your _drunkenness a secret. You don't seem to be upholding your end of the bargain too well, buddy."

Jace's face hardened. "I went through something traumatic," he said. "My mind is blocking it out to protect myself from terrible memories. Maybe it's best that they stay buried."

My frustration grew. "Let me guess, some psychologist that your parents made you go to told you that. Is that what you really believe, Jace? Are you fine with never knowing what happened that night, or who did it to you, or whether or not they're still after you?" When he didn't answer, I plowed on. "You do know that Alec is worried sick about you, right? He hates it that you aren't taking this seriously. You don't care if someone's out to get you, fine, but he does, and you're hurting him by blowing this off."

"Alec?" Jace echoed, and I saw pain cross his face. "Why should he care what happens to me?"

"Hello?" I said angrily, forgetting to keep my voice down. "You're brothers, aren't you?"

He looked away. "Not by blood."

"Who cares! This is serious, Jace. Find out who did it, or I'm going to spill about the party."

His golden eyes swung around to look at me again, and the way they blazed made me want to flinch away. "You wouldn't dare," he said in a dangerous voice.

Despite my instinct to shy away, I tilted my chin up and folded my arms across my chest, meeting his glare with my own. "Wanna bet?"

"You don't know what will happen if people find out about that party," Jace said, but then stopped, his jaw working, as if afraid he was saying too much.

"Oh? Then why don't you fill me in," I said sarcastically. "I bet it would be _so tragic _if all your buddies were grounded for the weekend. They'd probably throw themselves off their rooftops just to escape the pain."

"They could go to jail, Clary," Jace said fiercely, surprising me with the intensity in his voice. "The stuff that was going on there was…bad. A lot of the guests were minors, and none of them could legally drink. Among other things," he muttered.

"It's not like they would be locked away for life, Jace," I said scornfully. "Besides, it's what they get for—"

Jace's hand shot out and I automatically flinched. He pulled his hand back at once, and I realized he'd only been about to touch my arm. He looked at me with an unreadable expression, almost shocked. "Did you really think I was going to hit you?"

I forced myself not to flush and met his eyes. "Maybe I did," I said evenly.

For a second he seemed speechless. Then he shook his head and muttered, "I have to go."

"I'm not finished with you," I snapped. "What about remembering what happened?"

He stopped halfway to the door. We were now only inches apart, and that annoyingly heady scent of his filled my nose, distracting me. "Alec is worried about me?" His voice was much softer than before.

"That's what I've been saying."

I heard him take a breath. "Fine," he said coolly. "I'll keep trying to remember. I'll try harder than I have been," he added, cutting off my protest. "But you can't tell anyone about the party."

"Maybe it would help if I told," I said, trying to match his detached tone. "The cops would get a lead. They could get an idea of who might be—"

Jace spun around to face me, and I tried to back away from our sudden close proximity. I saw his hand twitch like he was going to reach out again, but he thought better of it. "Clary," he said, shocking me with my first name. "Please. Don't tell anyone." I'd never heard him sound so pleading, so…vulnerable.

I looked at him for a long time. It was the late bell blaring through the halls that jolted me out of my thoughts, making me jump. "Fine," I said at last. "But you have to remember. Or else…I have to tell the police, Jace."

His gold eyes went hard again, and he said stiffly, "I guess that's all I can ask for, from you." Then he left.

I followed him out, relieved that the hall was empty and no one was around to see both of us leaving a closet together. The last thing I needed was for people to get the wrong idea about us.

Jace was already turning a corner down the hall, out of sight. I stared after him, my chest tight. Would he really try to remember what happened? Or was he going to rebel even more, after my threats? I thought about what he'd said. _I guess that's all I can ask for…from you. _What was that supposed to mean? That he didn't expect me to show him any sympathy, any leniency? Well, maybe he was right. But I still didn't like the way he'd said it.

I sighed and rubbed my forehead with my fingers. So much for taking the gentle approach with him.

* * *

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	24. Chapter 24

I wasn't surprised when I found Sebastian waiting near my locker after last period; no doubt he'd have a few words to say to me after my episode with Aline at the diner. I'd been hoping to quickly flee the building with Simon, get to the diner and just try to forget about everything for a little while. I was usually pretty good at losing myself in my work, if I put my mind to it. But it looked like I was going to be held up, once again.

Simon came to an abrupt halt beside me when he spotted Sebastian, his eyes narrowing. "What's he doing?" he asked in a low voice.

I suppressed a weary sigh. "Um, I think he wants to talk," I mumbled.

Simon looked at me. "To you?"

"Yeah."

"About what?"

I considered telling him that there was a math assignment he needed help on, but hadn't I just decided not to push Simon away and keep him in the dark anymore? Even if he didn't like the idea of one of Jace's henchmen having contact with me, I owed him the truth.

"We've sort of been working together lately," I said as casually as I could. "Trying to get Jace to remember what happened…that night."

Simon's brow furrowed. "Why does he want to work with you?"

"He's concerned about Jace. He wants to find out who was behind the attack."

"Yeah, but…why you?" Simon's bewilderment was verging on insulting by this point. I tried to stay patient.

"He knows that I'm a suspect," I said, a tad coolly. "He figures that I want to solve the mystery as much as he does."

Simon twisted his mouth skeptically to the side. " 'Solve the mystery'? You've been watching too much Scooby Doo, Clary."

I glared at him, and he raised his hands in defeat.

"Sorry. I know it's serious. But, Clary…that guy is bad news. He's one of Jace's people. He's been tormenting you with the rest of them for years."

"No," I argued. "He always just stays in the background. He's never actually done anything to me."

"But he hasn't done anything to stop Jace from humiliating you, either, has he?" Simon pointed out. "I'm just asking you to be careful, Clary. I know I can't stop you from doing…whatever you're doing, but just keep in mind that Sebastian Morgenstern is not a saint, okay?"

I was about to object again, but when I saw the concern in his eyes, I swallowed back what I'd been about to say and nodded.

"I'll be careful," I said quietly, lightly touching his arm before turning and heading over to where Sebastian leaned against the row of lockers. As I walked toward him, I saw a couple of girls pass close by him, throwing their hair over their shoulders and giving him covert smiles. His expression didn't change, but I saw his eyes watching them as they walked away, and a strange feeling passed through me, something I couldn't identify.

I stopped next to him. He kept his eyes on the students passing by us and didn't acknowledge my presence. I felt suddenly uncertain—maybe it was just coincidence that he'd been hanging out near my locker. Maybe he didn't want to talk to me at all.

But then he said softly, "Meet me in the courtyard in ten minutes." He shrugged off the locker, turned his back to me, and loped away. Trying not to feel exasperated by his big show of secrecy, I turned my footsteps toward the courtyard.

* * *

Ten minutes later on the dot, Sebastian entered the yard. His black eyes raked his surroundings before settling on me, where I was perched tensely on a bench near the wall of the school. He strode toward me with confidence, not worried about having to be secretive. Once again, the courtyard was strangely empty, as if he'd warned everyone to stay away or something.

He stopped in front of me but didn't sit down. His eyes appraised me expressionlessly, making me nervous.

"What did you want to talk to me about?" I asked, trying to force myself to relax.

Sebastian took another few seconds to torment me and continued staring calmly at me. At last, he said, "A few things."

I crossed my arms and tried my best to look impatient. "You want to start talking already? I have a job, you know."

My words did nothing to hurry him along. He allowed another pause to swell between us before saying anything else. "You knew there were cops sitting in the booth next to ours," he said, and my heart sank at the prospect of a lecture. Why did it feel like Sebastian was my boss sometimes? "And yet you still hit Aline."

I bristled. "Did you hear what she said? I couldn't let her get away with that. That was a low blow. Anyone would have—" I broke off, realizing that Sebastian wouldn't care for my excuses, and looked away, trying to rein in my frustration.

I could feel his dark eyes boring into me. "You could have been arrested," he said. "In fact, when you left with those cops, I thought you had been. But as long as you got off without any real punishment, I don't see the harm in it."

My head snapped up and I stared at him in disbelief. "No harm in it? The cops now think that I have a reckless, uncontrollable temper and that I strike out at others without intending to! That makes me even more of a suspect to them in Jace's stabbing. That sounds like harm to me, Sebastian."

He sat fluidly down beside me, slinging his arm around the back of the bench. "I don't know," he said thoughtfully. "It doesn't really matter what the cops think of you now. When we reveal who really did it, none of it will matter. So I wouldn't worry too much about it." He tipped his head to one side and smiled faintly. "I was a little impressed, actually."

I could hardly believe my ears. Here I'd been expecting some long-winded rebuke from Sebastian, explaining all the dangers of punching someone's lights out in front of the police, but instead I was getting something that sounded bizarrely like a compliment.

"Thanks?" I said uncertainly.

He looked at me from the corner of his eye. "Any luck with seducing Jace?"

I'm sure my face was red as a tomato. Sebastian said the words so casually, like they were nothing. To me, though, they were pretty embarrassing.

"Not really," I answered honestly. "I may have erased any progress I might have made, which wasn't much to begin with, by badgering him about our deal."

Sebastian turned to face me full on. "You two made a deal?" His voice was still calm, but I thought I caught a current of something running underneath it.

"It was back when he was still in the hospital," I said, twisting my fingers together nervously. "I guess I kind of blackmailed him. I said if he tried to remember exactly what happened when he was attacked, and who did it, then I wouldn't tell anyone about the party, and the fact that he was drunk as a monkey."

I expected Sebastian to show approval of my plan, but of course, he never showed any emotion. He just looked at me, his dark eyes searching mine. At last, he said, "Not a bad idea. If he thinks his parents are in danger, he'll try as hard as he can to remember."

I blinked. "His parents? What are you talking about?"

"They gave the permission for the party," he said. "Well, in a sense. They gave Isabelle permission to have some friends over—I'm talking three or four. They had no idea she planned the bash at the Pandemonium Club. They didn't know about the alcohol, the drugs, or the guest list. Isabelle has a lot of connections with people who own the club, and she managed to rent it out without drawing the attention of her parents. Needless to say, though, if the cops caught wind of the magnitude of that party, Mr. and Mrs. Lightwood would definitely not go blameless."

"But they didn't know," I protested, a little stunned by this new information. "It isn't their fault—"

"They gave Isabelle permission," he said with a shrug. "They didn't chaperone the party. That'll get them into trouble."

"Jace didn't mention that," I murmured, mostly to myself.

"He doesn't want anyone to know."

"Then why are you telling me?"

"I think it's important for you to be informed," he answered. "If we're going to figure this out, you need all the facts. And if Jace isn't willing to tell you, then I'll take it upon myself."

I looked away, out across the courtyard, and kept my face blank. I didn't want to hear this from Sebastian; it wasn't his business to know, let alone tell me. What if Jace had told him this in confidence? How could Sebastian betray his best friend's secrets like this?

The wind blew strands of red hair across my face. I was about to absently reach up and brush them back when another hand beat me to it.

I froze as Sebastian tucked the stray hairs behind my ear. His hand was cold, and its touch made me shiver.

"You have beautiful hair," he observed. I glanced at him, hoping I didn't look as shocked as I felt. He met my eyes and smiled faintly. "Promise me you'll never change it."

I didn't know what to say to that. Luckily, he didn't seem to expect a response. He leaned a little closer, and my breath caught in my throat, nervous butterflies winging through my stomach. "Are you going to try again with Jace?" he murmured, not exactly what I'd been expecting him to say.

"M-maybe," I said, looking everywhere but at his searing black eyes. "I'll do my best, I guess."

Sebastian nodded. His hand still hovered near my hair, and I was finding it difficult to concentrate.

"Actually, I had an idea the other day. What if we took a look at the guest list of the party?" I said, fighting the urge to scoot away from him.

Sebastian drew back slightly, his face revealing a rare amount of surprise. "The guest list?" he echoed.

"What if it was someone at the party?" I pressed.

Sebastian's face smoothed again. "Only people with invitations were admitted into the party, and I don't think there's anyone insane enough at our school to attack another classmate. Especially Jace. They wouldn't want to piss him off, or his family. He left to find you, and someone must have jumped him on the way. I thought we agreed on that."

I couldn't exactly recall ever having agreed about that, but I didn't say anything. "It could be anyone, Sebastian," I protested. "And what do you mean, there's no one insane enough at our school to attack Jace? Our school is huge, and probably full of kids that aren't quite right in the head. Any one of them could have the potential to hurt Jace. Face it, he's made himself a lot of enemies."

"Jace doesn't have enemies," Sebastian said coolly, an odd note creeping into his voice. I felt a little jolt—was Sebastian jealous of Jace's popularity?

"Of course he does," I said. "How can he not, when he treats people the way he does?"

Sebastian's black eyes searched mine for a moment, and then, slowly, he nodded. "Maybe you're right," he murmured. "I'll talk to Isabelle about the guest list. If I explain the situation, I think she'll cooperate. Meanwhile, you keep sweet talking Jace." To my complete astonishment, he winked at me. Winking didn't seem like Sebastian's thing.

"Right," I stammered, trying not to blush. "Sounds like a plan."

"I know you can do this, Clary," Sebastian said softly, leaning toward me again until our faces were only a few inches apart. "You're smart. You're sly. You can trick Jace into anything, with the right words."

Even though his close proximity distracted me, a part of me still found time to feel an anxious twist at his words. I didn't like to think of it as "tricking" Jace. I was just trying to help us both out by jogging his memory. Right?

Then all thoughts in my head flitted away as Sebastian started to close the small amount of distance between us, his expression as calm as if he were bending down to tie his shoelace. He was so close that I could smell his scent, which reminded me of cold nights in the country. And despite the fact that Sebastian was literally inches away from me, I couldn't help thinking that his scent was nothing like Jace's, who smelled of warmth and-

Abruptly, he froze, his eyes flicking from my face to a point beyond me, darkening. I turned, too, relieved at having an excuse to move away from him, and saw that someone had walked into the courtyard and was standing near the door, staring at us with wide eyes.

It was Alec. His gaze moved between Sebastian and me, over and over, as if he couldn't comprehend what he was seeing. I could feel my face heating up with embarrassment. I could just imagine what it had looked like to him. We weren't going to do anything, but it wouldn't have seemed that way to an onlooker. Of course we weren't going to do anything…

And then it struck me, why should Alec care? Why did he look so stricken, like he'd just witnessed something horrible?

"Can I help you?" Sebastian's voice was calm, but I didn't miss the razor edge just beneath the surface.

Alec opened his mouth to say something, and stopped, his blue eyes settling on me briefly. "No," he finally said, without looking away from me. "I was just…checking something." Then he turned and loped back through the door he came through.

"That was weird," I said, confused.

Sebastian shrugged. "That's Alec Lightwood for you," he said, keeping his tone casual, but his eyes burned into the door Alec had just disappeared through. I wondered if they had some bad blood between them, but knew better than to ask.

Whatever the reason, I couldn't get Alec's shocked face out of my head. What was so bad about talking in the courtyard?

I'd have to talk to him about it. I was sick of secrets, both my own and everyone else's, and I wanted them to end.

* * *

By the next day, it quickly became apparent that Alec was not too eager to talk to me.

Since he moved like a shadow, I kept my eye open for Isabelle instead, knowing that where she was, he'd most likely follow. It was never hard to track down Isabelle. Her presence could be felt from miles away. She was usually surrounded by other people, but Alec was the one who was always faithfully by her side. I stood and watched them from afar, noticing things I hadn't before. Like how Isabelle's eyes shifted restlessly around her circle of friends, like she was searching for an escape. She looked irritated, uncomfortable. It was bizarre imagining that Isabelle Lightwood might not always like to be center of attention.

I also noticed the protective way Alec stood over Isabelle, like he was shielding her from something. I'd always thought that he trailed after her for a lack of other friends, but now I realized that was a silly thing to think. He wasn't resigning himself to being near Isabelle; he was doing it for her. Maybe the attack on Jace had shaken her up, or maybe he just felt the urge to always be at her side, always protecting her from potential harm.

I found myself wishing that I had a brother that would do that for me.

Alec's blue eyes flicked around the halls, and he reminded me of a security guard, on the lookout for danger. His eyes passed over me and then zipped back, widening slightly when he caught me watching. I raised my hand in a little half wave, but he turned away quickly.

Either he didn't want anyone thinking that we were associated, which wasn't too unbelievable, or his behavior had to do with seeing Sebastian and me together.

The bell rang, and I hung back, waiting for the crowd to disperse. Alec bent down to murmur something in Isabelle's ear. For a second, apprehension flashed across her face before she controlled it and nodded curtly. Then she sashayed away, her shoulders tense. I wondered what he'd said to her.

Alec turned to stride away, and I didn't think it was any coincidence that he was walking almost too fast for me to catch up. As it was, I had to run to reach him before he could lose himself in the tide of students.

"Alec?" I caught his arm and he tried to pull away, keeping his back to me. "I need to talk to you!" I said severely, tightening my hold.

Alec cast a quick, strained look at the people walking past us before hissing at me, "Later." Then he jerked away and disappeared into the throng.

"Later" turned out to be lunchtime. I was genuinely surprised when he melted out of the shadows near the cafeteria, stepping in front of me and fixing me with a cool, blue eyed look.

"Come on," he murmured. He turned and walked away, not bothering to look back and check if I was following. Inwardly, I prayed he wasn't headed toward a janitor's closet. I'd seen far too many of those lately.

Instead, I saw him disappear into an empty classroom, leaving the door open just a crack for me. I slipped inside and closed the door, supposing he wanted a private conversation.

I turned to see him leaning against a desk, arms folded across his chest, jaw clenched.

"Alec?" I said cautiously. He looked up at me, and his eyes were full of turmoil.

"I shouldn't be talking to you." He exhaled. "If anyone saw us…"

I raised my eyebrows. "It would be social suicide to be seen with me," I agreed with a touch of sarcasm. "I feel your pain."

"It's not that." Just like the first time we spoke, he seemed frustrated.

"Then what is it?" I demanded. "What's going on with you?" I narrowed my eyes at him, wishing I could see straight into his head. "And what's going on between you and Sebastian? When you walked into the courtyard yesterday, you looked like you were witnessing a murder."

Alec flinched and his face seemed to go even whiter than it already was. "Nothing," he said mechanically. "We just…don't get along."

Was that why Alec hung out with Isabelle rather than Jace and his crowd? Because he wanted to stay away from Sebastian?

"There's got to be something," I persisted, knowing I was being nosy. It seemed important though, in a way I couldn't put my finger on. "Did you have a fight? Is it because Sebastian doesn't agree with your theory about Jace being...deliberately attacked?"

"It's none of your business," Alec said sharply. He ran his hands through his hair, causing it to stick up in all directions. "Look," he said in a calmer voice. "Sebastian and I have had some…difficulties in the past, but it's not important." Even though his words sounded convincing enough, his expression told a different story.

"You're both after the same thing," I said softly. "You both want to help find out who attacked Jace. Maybe if you worked together—"

"No," Alec all but snarled. "I won't work with him. It won't help matters at all." He looked away, still angry.

I threw my hands up in defeat. "Fine. Hate each other. Make this all about you two. Who cares? I'm leaving."

"That's all you wanted to ask me about?" he said. "Sebastian?"

I gave him a look over my shoulder as I turned toward the door. "There's something going on with you guys," I told him. "I'll figure it out eventually." The expression on his face said that he wished I wouldn't try.

As my fingers closed around the doorknob, Alec said quietly, "Stay away from Sebastian, Clary. I can't tell you any more than that. But…be careful."

I threw the door opened and walked out without responding, but his words sent a cold chill down my spine. It was more than likely that Alec's warning was a product of his own personal feud with Sebastian, but at the same time I couldn't help feeling just a little bit unsettled.

* * *

Jace ignored me all day.

It was an almost surreal feeling. He looked past me in the halls, didn't bother looking up when I entered history class, and basically pretended I didn't exist. It was definitely not something I was accustomed to. He didn't throw me a single sneer or spiked comment. It was like I was just another nobody at school, not worth his time or his attention.

Rather than give me relief like it should have, his disinterest made me disgruntled. It was probably just the abnormality of the whole situation, but it felt like it was more than that that was bothering me.

The last bell rang, and I was more than ready to leave. Even the diner sounded better than school. Unfortunately, my feelings changed when I walked through the front door of Valentine's. I got a sick feeling when I glanced at the booth where I'd punched Aline and nearly gotten myself arrested. The whole diner seemed to hold nothing but foul memories now.

"Hello, Clary." My mom's voice made me jump. She had an armload of dishes and had stopped on her way to the kitchen. I was relieved her hands were full; otherwise, she might have lunged at me. We still hadn't discussed my outburst the other day. I'd been avoiding her, and she hadn't been making much of an effort to track me down, so we'd been engaged in an awkward little dance for the past few days, neither one of us wanting the confrontation that was bound to come.

But she didn't look wrathful. Her voice was even, her eyes calm, which didn't necessarily tell me anything. She was good at hiding her anger when she wanted to.

"Hi," I said, cracking my knuckles nervously and hoping she wouldn't start chucking dirty plates at me.

"How was school?"

"Fine." _Stressful. Confusing. Anything but fine. _

"Good." There was a stretch of awkward silence, and then my mom continued on her way to the kitchen. I breathed a silent sigh of relief. I would just have to hope that she would save the lecture until home.

Luke was seated at the counter again. This time, he wasn't reading over legal documents; he was poring over another of his mystery novels. Maybe searching for clues about Jace's case in the pages of a book? I had to suppress a smile at the thought.

"Hey, kiddo," he said upon noticing me. His smile eased some of the tension bubbling inside of me. "Pull up a chair." He pushed a stool toward me with his foot, his pale eyes sparkling behind his glasses.

"I guess I could for a second." I sat down heavily, propping my chin in my hands. I closed my eyes and told myself sternly that I would not fall asleep at the counter.

"Tired?" Luke asked sympathetically.

"Yeah. Haven't been getting a lot of sleep." That was an understatement. Ever since the police took me in to the station, I'd barely slept a wink. Only when total exhaustion dragged me under could I rest.

"Maybe you should ask your mom for the day off," he suggested.

I laughed dryly. "She's already planning on murdering me for 'attacking' a customer. I don't think she'd welcome me skipping my shift."

Luke didn't answer, which meant he saw the truth in my words.

I dragged myself off the stool, doggedly tying on my apron and digging my notepad out of a drawer. Mona bumped my shoulder as she passed, giving me a frosty look that I had neither the time nor energy to decipher. She was always angry at me for something.

The door opened and let in a rush of cold air. A familiar shard of dread speared my stomach as I heard a burst of donkeyish, braying laughter, belonging to one of Jace's groupies.

I glanced at Mona, where she was emerging from the kitchen with several plates balanced along her arms. She gave me the evil eye, as if guessing that I wanted to dump Jace's table on her; her look seemed to say, _Don't even think about it. _

Resigned to Mona's bad temperament, I forced myself over to Jace's table. The diner was pretty empty, and I couldn't stall by serving the other tables first. I stopped at their table, pressed my lips together, and waited. My mood improved infinitesimally when I noticed that Aline was absent from the group.

"Well?" one of Jace's friends said snidely. I gave him a cursory look. "Aren't you going to ask if you can take our orders?"

"I think you know the drill by now," I said, aiming at sounding bored, but there was a current of aggravation running under my tone.

"Nice apron," another of them observed, sneering. "Makes you look even more like Raggedy Anne than before."

I was tempted to say something biting, but I didn't have the energy.

The one who'd made the Raggedy Anne crack looked at Jace eagerly, wanting his ringleader's approval at his oh so clever joke. But Jace had his head turned away, staring out the window. I was surprised to see shadows under his eyes, his complexion pale. He didn't look so good.

Next to him, Sebastian shot the guy still waiting for Jace's reaction a scornful look and said, "Shut up, Andrew."

Andrew looked flabbergasted. I wondered how long he'd been planning the Raggedy Anne joke, and almost felt sorry for him.

I couldn't stop staring at Jace as I took the orders of everyone else. They were all having as loud and good a time as ever, but Jace didn't join in. He continued staring out the window, like there was something extremely interesting out there, but at the same time he didn't seem to be actually seeing anything at all.

What was the matter with him? Was he still so bent on ignoring me that he was going to pout all day? Had I made him that angry during our conversation in the closet?

When it came to be his turn to order, he didn't seem to realize it. Sebastian had to nudge him with his elbow to get him to jerk out of his daze. His gold eyes flicked to me, not really looking at me, and he said quietly, "Nothing for me." Then he turned back to the window.

Officially freaked out, I turned on my heel and went to give their orders to Chef Timothy. Even though I'd never admit it, to myself or anyone else, I was concerned. What could possibly cause Jace to act like that? Was he sick? Was his knife wound bothering him? What if it had gotten infected? Would he tell anyone about it, or just assume that he could tough it out?

I was certain that his annoyance with me wouldn't cause him to act this way. So what was wrong?

I was bringing drinks out to another table when I saw Jace murmur something to Sebastian. Sebastian hesitated, nodded once, and then slid out of the booth, allowing Jace to step out as well. Instead of heading toward the bathrooms, however, Jace made a beeline for the front door.

Alarmed, I quickly set the drinks at their destination and darted outside after Jace. I didn't even think. I just acted.

"Jace, hold on," I said. He stopped partway down the sidewalk and turned back, arching an eyebrow at me. Now that I was outside, and had called his name, and he was waiting for me to explain why I'd run after him in the first place, I was beginning to wonder why I had. "Where are you going?" I said falteringly.

One side of his mouth pulled up in a smirk, but it was tired and halfhearted. "Does it matter?"

"Are you okay?" I added, taking a step closer. "I mean, if this is about our conversation…"

"The world doesn't revolve around you, Fray," he said, rolling his eyes. He shot me another smirk, this one a little livelier than the last. "But I appreciate your deep concern for me."

I instinctively scowled, even as relief blossomed inside of me now that he was acting a little more like himself. "I'm not concerned."

He walked back to me, startling me, and leaned close. It reminded me of how Sebastian had invaded my personal space yesterday. Jace put his mouth near my ear, his warm breath curling against my skin, and whispered, "I'm a big boy. I can take care of myself. See you around, Gingerbread."

Then he turned and walked away before I had the chance to come up with a response. I watched him go, a little dazed. I could still feel his breath on my cheek, and his scent lingered in the air around me. For reasons I couldn't understand, I felt a little flutter in my stomach, a feeling I didn't think I'd ever had before. Strange.

* * *

_Thanks for reading and reviewing, you guys are awesome! If I have time this week, I might update early, just to get the story moving a little faster. _


	25. Chapter 25

I couldn't stop thinking about Jace for the rest of the day, and his bizarre behavior. I was relieved that it didn't have anything to do with me, but still, it was worrisome. He had looked pretty sick. I wished I would have asked him what was wrong, instead of the generic, easy-to-dodge "Are you okay?" Of course he wasn't okay. What a stupid question.

Simon showed up just after Luke left, as the rest of Jace's friends were leaving. A few of them shouldered past him, shoving him roughly to the side and sniggering in a self-satisfied way when he stumbled. I had half a mind to go after them and give them a taste of what Aline had gotten the other day, but Simon put his hand on my shoulder and shook his head.

"Not worth it," he said with pointed brightness. "Doesn't bother me." But it did. Even if he did manage to shrug it off, I knew that Simon hated to be treated like that. I hated to see him treated like that, too.

"They're asses," I informed him. "How about a Coke, on the house?"

Simon grinned. "Now you're talking, Fray."

Hearing him call me Fray made me think of Jace, and I turned away from Simon before he could see the change in my expression.

I had just ducked behind the counter and started to fill a glass with Coke when the front door banged open with a lot more force than was regular or necessary. I looked up in surprise and almost dropped the glass.

It was Isabelle Lightwood.

Never once had I anticipated to see Isabelle in my mom's diner. Her immaculately straight hair and high heels seemed so out of place here. She looked almost ridiculous in this setting, drawing every eye in the room to her, dominating the place with her mere presence.

Simon looked over at her and his mouth fell open. To his credit, he noticed he was gaping and snapped it shut.

Isabelle's eyes zipped to and fro, searching impatiently, and then zeroed in on me. I stood frozen to the spot as she marched toward me, her heels clacking loudly on the hard floor.

She leaned over the counter and fixed me with a glare. "We need to talk," she said.

Even though I felt like my courage had turned to mush, my voice came out cool and even. "I'm working."

Her eyes narrowed. "It'll only take a minute."

"It'll have to wait," I told her matter-of-factly as I finished filling Simon's Coke and passed it to him across the counter. He clutched it numbly, his eyes glued to Isabelle. He was completely immobilized by the fact that she was just a few feet away from him. I fought the urge to roll my eyes. She hadn't even acknowledged his existence.

"It's about Jace," Isabelle said, not bothering to keep her voice down. I flinched and glanced back toward my mom's office. This wasn't something I wanted her overhearing.

"I want to talk about the night he was attacked," she announced.

"Shhh," I hissed, casting a panicked look around the diner to see if anyone had heard. "This is not something you can just go around yelling about, Isabelle!"

"This is important," she insisted.

"Fine. Make it quick."

"Not here," she said, as if I were stupid for thinking otherwise. "Don't you have anywhere in this little dump where you can have some privacy?"

I ground my teeth together and wondered what she would do if I snatched Simon's Coke and overturned it on her head. But I was trying to kick that nasty habit of dumping beverages on customers, so I restrained myself.

"Yes," I said at last. "Come on." Before I'd even finished speaking, she had joined me behind the counter as if she had always known I wouldn't refuse her. I headed toward the storage room, but as I reached for the doorknob I heard a bang from inside. My mom was in there, or Timothy, maybe even Mona. None of them would be happy to see that I was bringing a non-employee into the storage room.

I backed away and headed for the back door instead. I'd been avoiding the alley behind the diner as much as possible lately, namely because of the bad memories I now associated with it, but I didn't know where else I could talk to Isabelle without interruption.

I stepped out first and then spun to face her, crossing my arms and adopting what I hoped was a defiant stance. "Well?" I said.

She fixed me with a glare that did not help me retain my bravery. "I told you to stay away from Jace," she said.

"Did you? I don't recall," I lied.

"Yes, I did," she snapped. "And you haven't listened."

"He's the one that keeps seeking me out," I answered testily. Once upon a time, this would have been true, but not anymore. Our last few interactions had been because I'd gone out in search of him, not the other way around. But I didn't dare tell Isabelle that.

"I don't care if he's the one finding you. Find a way for him to leave you alone," she said, like this should be a simple thing.

I sighed. "Do you still think I'm the one that attacked him?"

Her eyes remained hard. "Of course I do. Anyone would have to be stupid not to see it."

Something in me snapped.

"Well, that sucks," I said bitterly. "You can join the rest of the club that has elected me as Top Suspect in a Senseless Crime. It seems to be getting bigger every day. Do you know how it feels to have everyone looking at you like you're some kind of monster? Like they're afraid you're going to pull a knife on them if they get too close? If I hadn't called that ambulance, Jace might be dead right now. Does anyone remember that part? Of course not. Not even Jace does.

"It was one of the worst nights of my life," I ranted on, oblivious to the fact that Isabelle's eyes were getting wider and wider with each passing second. "Have _you _ever gone to take out the garbage, only to find someone you know on the brink of death by the Dumpster? He was _right there, _Isabelle," I said, pointing savagely to the mouth of the alley where Jace had collapsed. The bloodstain had long since been washed away by rain, but Isabelle flinched as if it was still a fresh, scarlet splatter on the gray stone.

"I found him," I said, "and I didn't have time to call my mom or any other adult for help. I just had to contact the police and tell them someone was dying here. I went to the hospital with him, I sat there all night, waiting to see if he was going to make it. And you know what happened when I went in to see him? He called me ugly." My voice was rising, sounding a little hysterical. I was probably starting to frighten her, but I didn't care. All I could feel was the rage and bitterness and hopelessness that had been building up inside of me for weeks, pouring out in one big tidal wave.

"And now," I went on, pacing back and forth, "I had to go and punch Aline Penhallow, and just about got thrown in the slammer for it. Now the cops think that I have reckless tendencies and that if I get mad enough, I have the potential to hurt someone. They don't believe me when I say I didn't do it. And you know what? Very few people do. And it's people like _you_"—I stabbed my finger at her—"that spread rumors about it and make people believe that I'm the culprit. So go ahead, Isabelle. Tell everyone that I stabbed Jace. Try to bully me into staying away from him. It doesn't matter anyway. If I don't figure out who's behind this for real, I'm going to be arrested."

Finally, the rest of my steam puttered off, and I stood there breathing hard, realizing that I'd just gone off on a crazy tangent in front of Isabelle Lightwood, who would now probably spread rumors of my insanity to the rest of the school.

I forced myself to peek at her face, trying to gauge her reaction. I was expecting one of those "Are you crazy?" looks, but I couldn't read her expression.

Then she turned abruptly and walked toward the mouth of the alley. I wondered if she was afraid I was going to viciously attack her and was getting the hell out of here, but then she stopped and looked down at the ground, her eyes raking everything as if looking for something.

"You found him here?" Her voice was quieter and more subdued than I'd ever heard it.

I pushed my fingers through my hair. "Yeah." My tone matched hers. I was feeling a little embarrassed about how upset I'd just gotten.

Isabelle let out a long, shaky breath. She turned back to me, and I was stunned to see tears in her eyes. She scrubbed them with her hands, looking furious with herself, but they were there all the same. "You talk about that night being hard," she said, her voice suddenly harsh and full of surprising bitterness. "You don't even know. Who is Jace to you anyway? Nothing. To me, he's like my brother. When I got the call that he'd been hurt, maybe fatally, I almost couldn't handle it. Imagine how it felt when I heard that my brother had gotten hurt because he'd wandered off from _my _party, where I hadn't been keeping an eye on him. It's my fault. And none of my friends will even say it to my face. They tiptoe around it and say that I can't be held responsible for Jace's actions. But I know the truth."

She glared at the alley wall, her hands fists, and for the first time, Isabelle seemed less like a robot and more like a human to me.

I could have told her that it wasn't her fault. I could have fed her assurances and pity, but that wasn't what she wanted. She'd gotten enough of that already.

I said bluntly, "You're right. It is kind of your fault."

Her head snapped around and she looked at me in shock. I guess, despite her complaints, she hadn't actually expected anyone to blame her.

"It's as simple as that. If you had been watching, it never would have happened." I shrugged. "But everyone makes mistakes. Sometimes it's a matter of luck. He could have just as easily made it to this diner without getting jumped. He was in the wrong place at the wrong time. And besides, it's not like it's your job to keep him out of trouble."

Isabelle watched me closely. She no longer looked hostile—just guarded. "So you don't believe someone was trying to…kill him? On purpose?" she asked, and she suddenly sounded vulnerable, like she was depending on what I was about to say next. She wanted me to tell her that Jace was going to be fine, that he was safe now; despite Alec saying otherwise, a part of her did fear the possibility that someone was still after him, that someone still wanted him gone.

It would have comforted her if I told her that it had been a freak accident. But she didn't want false assurances. I could tell that much.

"I don't know," I said honestly. "Anything could have happened."

Isabelle turned away and went back to staring at the spot where Jace had lain. "He could have died," she said softly. Her shoulders were tense. "You sure you didn't do it?"

"Yes," I said without missing a beat, keeping my voice solemn and controlled. "I swear I didn't."

She exhaled, long and slow, and, to my astonishment, said, "I believe you."

"You do?" I sputtered.

"Don't sound so surprised," she snapped, regaining some of that old Isabelle spark. "Can't a girl have a change of heart?"

I was almost speechless. We'd both just done a lot of yelling at each other, and yet some of the animosity between us seemed to have melted away. Maybe getting some of those thoughts and feelings off our chests had sort of brought us closer together.

Or maybe not.

"I still think you should stay away from Jace," Isabelle added, doing her best to sound hard and intimidating, though she still had smears of mascara under her eyes from where a few tears had trailed down her face, slightly marring the effect.

"Why?" I couldn't resist asking.

"Alec thinks someone is after Jace." Isabelle made a face, expressing her doubt in his theory. "If he's somehow right, then the people around him could end up getting hurt, too. It's for your own safety."

I'd planned on saying something along the lines of, _I'd be delighted to stay away__, _but instead two very different words popped out of my mouth. "I can't."

Her eyes widened briefly, maybe at the shock of being defied. "Why not?" she demanded.

Should I tell her about Sebastian asking for my help? Or Alec? Had her brother told her that he'd talked to me? Somehow, I doubted it. It didn't seem like something that Isabelle would take kindly to. And I didn't see why I had to go spreading my affiliation with Sebastian around. Odds were, he didn't want anyone to know that he'd asked me to help him. It would probably be best to leave the two of them out of my answer.

"Remember when I told you the police suspect me of being the culprit?" I said. "I need to get Jace to remember something about that night to get me off the hook."

"As if we haven't already tried to get him to remember everything," Isabelle scoffed. "You aren't going to get anywhere."

I'd heard this, and thought it myself, enough times that I didn't have to hear it from her, too. "I have to get back to work." I turned away from her and headed toward the back door. "Nice having this…chat with you."

"Don't get too twisted up in this mess, Clary," Isabelle called after me. "You could both put each other in a lot of danger." I wasn't sure, but I thought I heard genuine worry in her voice.

I slipped back into the diner without another word.

When I got back to the dining area, I felt Simon staring at me. I didn't look at him as I grabbed an order from Chef Timothy's window, ignoring his scary glare, and headed toward one of the tables.

"Hold on," Simon protested, stopping me with a hand on my shoulder as I tried to walk past. "You're not even going to say anything?"

"About what?" I said innocently.

"About what, she says," he muttered. "About Isabelle Lightwood dragging you out into the alley to talk to you?" His brow furrowed. "Seems like that whole family is getting pretty chummy with you lately."

"It's all Jace talk," I said, keeping my tone as light as I could. "Trying to figure out what happened and all."

"I don't understand why everyone thinks you know all the details," he said, shaking his head. "It's not like you were there when he was stabbed. You just found him, right?"

I shrugged. "I'm their only other clue, since Jace doesn't remember anything. Can't blame them for trying."

Simon continued to frown as I made my way over to one of the tables. I wasn't going to tell him about what had just transpired between Isabelle and me; it had been private, something shared between two girls that I didn't think Simon would understand. It wouldn't kill him if I kept this one conversation from him.

* * *

After work, my mom finally cornered me.

She waited until we were home. As usual, we took the taxi ride in silence. I could sense something on the horizon, and as we let ourselves into the apartment, I was already resigned to a good long lecture.

My mom stood near the front door as I took my coat off and hung it in the closet, placing my shoes neatly beneath it. I avoided looking at her as I headed toward our tiny kitchen to get a glass of water.

"Clary," my mom said quietly. "We need to talk."

I sighed softly to myself. "Yeah, I guess we do."

"Why did you hit that girl?"

It seemed like so long ago. I half wished my mom would have a reaction like Magnus Bane's, and applaud me for my boldness. But that was never going to happen.

"I told you," I said. "At the police station. She said terrible things, Mom. And I just snapped. I'm sorry."

I fully expected her to lose her calm face and go into explosive mode, start ranting about how dangerous and reckless it had been to punch someone within feet of police officers. And for once, I would duck my head and take everything she had to say without speaking a word of argument, because it was completely true. It was definitely one of the stupidest moments of my life. Maybe the cops were right—maybe I was prone to reckless anger.

Instead of screaming, though, my mom drew in a long, weary breath, shutting her eyes as if the sight of me pained her. "Don't apologize," she said, her quiet voice startling me more than a yell would have. "I'm the one that's sorry, Clary. This wouldn't have happened if I had been more open with you."

My hands automatically curled into fists, my fingernails biting into my palms. "What are you talking about?" Of course I knew. But I had to hear it from her. I didn't want to, but I had to.

"We should sit down." She gestured to the couch and gave me an almost pleading look.

"I think I'll stand," I said, even though my aching legs begged me to relieve them for a while. I felt too restless to sit down; I wanted to feel in control of the situation, which was quickly veering into places I wasn't experienced with.

My mom nodded, and I saw her shoulders rise and fall as she took another breath. "You said the girl at the diner taunted you about your father," she said softly, her eyes never leaving mine.

"Yes." My throat felt tight.

"I should have told you before. I didn't want you to…" She trailed off and ran her hands through her long hair, looking flustered.

"Tell me what?" My voice was deceptively even.

"Just before you were born," she said, "there was an accident."

"An accident," I repeated. Was she going to tell me that my father had died? Maybe that would be preferable.

"He was under a lot of strain," she said, choosing her words carefully. "Your father, I mean. His boss was threatening to fire him, and he had a new family to provide for. You came earlier than we planned," she admitted. "We weren't…" A blush colored her cheeks. "We weren't technically married when we found out about you."

I stared at her, astonished. My parents hadn't even been married when they had me? Why was I just finding out about this now? Then again, there was a lot about my family that I didn't know.

My mom continued before I could remember how to speak. "He promised he would marry me. He needed to raise enough money—he was going to buy us a house. He wanted to give you everything in the world." Her eyes were faraway now, and I wasn't sure she was still aware that I was there. "He stretched himself too far," she said softly. "He worked a job in the day, and another at night. Even before all of that, he wasn't always quite right in the head. He had medication that helped him think more clearly, and brought him to normalcy. But there were times when he wouldn't take the medicine, or his prescription would run out…

"One night," her voice dropped lower, raw with suppressed pain, and I almost couldn't bear to listen to the rest. "He stumbled home in the middle of his shift. We were living in a tiny apartment then, and he hated it. He hated that we weren't living in a big house like he'd always wanted. He wasn't supposed to be home yet. I came out of the bedroom to see what was wrong. He was drunk, and had just been fired from his night job. I knew right away that he hadn't taken his medication. Either his prescription had run out, or he'd skipped it on accident, or on purpose...

"He wasn't thinking clearly. He grabbed me and shook me; he said a lot of things, though I didn't understand most of it, except for the last part." I thought I saw a shiver run through her. "He drew me close, and he whispered right in my ear: 'They broke me, Jocelyn'." She wrapped her arms around herself, staring past me into space. "I'm still not sure what he meant by 'they.' He once admitted to me that he heard voices sometimes, though I've never known whether he said it as a joke, or whether it was true."

I wanted to step forward and comfort her, but I couldn't move. I was frozen, listening to every word that she said.

"He pushed me away, took something from our bedroom, and left," she said softly. "When he was gone, I ran into the bedroom to see what he'd taken. I found a shoebox lying open on the floor—the one where he kept his pistol in case of emergencies." I flinched, but if my mom noticed, she didn't show it. "The next day, I found out that he had shot seven people, killing three of them. He was put on trial, and I saw pictures of him on the news, in the paper. His face was always impassive, as if he couldn't care less what happened to him.

"The trial went on for months. He was urged by his attorney to plead insanity; it was clear, to me, at least, that he had not been in his right mind when he'd done it. He decided to forego the defense, for reasons I'll never understand. And then you were born, and he was offered the opportunity to have us visit, so that he could meet you." She paused, her throat convulsing as she swallowed hard.

"Let me guess," I whispered. "He didn't want to meet me."

My mom closed her eyes for a few moments before slowly opening them again. "He was found guilty, and received a life sentence in prison. I never saw him again."

Shakily, I lowered myself down onto the couch, putting my face in my hands.

"I'm so sorry, Clary," my mom whispered, her voice trembling with tears. "I didn't think you could handle hearing that before. But now I know you're strong enough. I'm sorry that it happened, and that he couldn't stick around to be here for you—"

"He didn't even want to see me," I said quietly, staring at the floor. "He went to all that work, trying to make a life for us, and he didn't even want to meet his own daughter."

"I think he was ashamed," my mom said, sounding desperate to reassure me. "He didn't want you to know your father as a murderer, a prisoner. He was so ashamed of himself, Clary."

Slowly, the shocked, numb feeling inside of me started to melt away, and to my mild surprise, quivering rage took its place. Not at my mom, but at my father, the man I'd never met and probably never would, who had done something horrible to people he probably hadn't known. He had taken the lives of three people, people who'd had families and friends and jobs, who were gone now, taken long before they should have been, because of my father.

He had my mom. He had me. Wasn't that enough for him? Couldn't he have fought for us? Didn't he want the life he'd been working toward for so long?

No. I guess not.

Just as suddenly as it came, the fury drained away. I stood, my knees feeling as if they were made of liquid, and said in a monotone, "I'm going to bed."

"Clary." My mom reached for me, but I cringed away. "Please." The pain in her eyes was too much to look at.

"I just need to be alone," I said, backing away until I reached the hall. Then I turned and made a break for my room. I closed the door and locked it, leaning against it and trying to take deep, calming breaths.

But I couldn't calm down. All I could think of was my mom's face when she talked about my father, the image of the empty shoebox that had once held a gun lying in her bedroom, her horror and grief when she realized she would be raising a baby alone, and she wouldn't see her child's father again.

My feeble composure cracked, and tears leaked from the corners of my eyes. I slid down the door until I sat against it, pulling my knees against my chest. My tears made dark little dots on my jeans, and my shoulders shook with the force of my soundless sobs.

* * *

_Ruh-roh! Valentine is, as always, eeevil! But next chapter stars Clary and Jace..._

_Did anyone else get Clockwork Princess? I'm reading it right now, and I'm freaking out, man!_

_Thanks so much for reading and reviewing!_


	26. Chapter 26

_Can anyone find the quote from City of Bones in this chapter? If you can, I'll give you TWO llamas._

* * *

It only took a few minutes of crouching pathetically in my dark bedroom to realize that I couldn't stay there a second longer. I sprang to my feet, scrubbing my eyes with my hands in a vain attempt to remove all traces of tears. I shoved shoes on my feet without looking to see which ones I'd grabbed—for all I knew, they might not even match.

I flung my door open and walked straight past my mom, who was huddled on the couch, lost in sad memories. I couldn't bring myself to look at her.

"Where are you going?" Her own voice was thick with tears.

"Out," was all I said, and for once she didn't stop me.

I didn't really have anywhere to go. I considered Simon's place, but I wasn't even sure he was home, and besides, talking to him didn't seem appealing at the moment. I'd already cried on him once lately; he probably wouldn't be able to withstand another bout of waterworks soaking his shirt.

So I took a taxi to Central Park. My mom had always pleaded with me not to come here alone, but it was one of the few places in New York City that I knew of where I could almost pretend that everyone else in the world had disappeared, and it was just me and my thoughts. Only when I'd gotten out of the cab and took out my wallet to pay the driver did I realize that I didn't have enough money to get back. Angrily, I stomped into the recesses of the park, cursing myself for my carelessness. Now I'd have to call my mom to come and get me, like a child.

The sky was overcast, and as I walked aimlessly along the familiar paths of the park, a raindrop hit me on the nose. I'd been in such a hurry to flee my apartment that I hadn't even grabbed my coat. I shoved my hands in my jeans pockets as my mood blackened further.

I stopped at a fairly deserted part of the park. One lone man sat against a tree not far away, the collar of his big coat turned up against the chill. I envied him that coat. I leaned against another tree, staring blankly ahead without taking in the pretty scenery.

I shouldn't have come here. It hadn't been a smart move. I was freezing, miserable, and about to get rained on. And it hadn't helped me escape the harsh truth I'd just learned, the truth that I was currently fighting against, trying to keep it at bay just a little while longer.

"Fray?"

I froze. No. _No. _

My head turned, slowly, toward the big coat man, who I'd sort of mistaken for a homeless guy, but who turned out to be not so homeless after all. In fact, if I had taken more than a cursory look, I would have known immediately that not only was it a fairly wealthy person, it was the last person in the world I wanted to see.

Jace didn't make a move to stand, but he eyed me with curiosity, his hair a golden splash of color against his surroundings, which were rapidly graying thanks to gathering twilight and the rainclouds overhead.

Central Park was a big place. In fact, I think it would be fair to call all of New York City a "big place." So how the hell did Jace and I end up in the exact same spot? It wasn't even like we were in different areas of the park. I'd been standing yards away from him without even noticing.

Clearly, I was being punished for something.

"What are you doing here?" I sputtered, awkwardly trying to smooth my hair with one hand. I realized what I was doing and quickly dropped it back to my side.

He laughed once, humorlessly. "Relaxing."

I just looked at him in confusion. He sighed.

"Alec made me come here," he said, nodding his head at the park. "He noticed I wasn't looking my best, and thought I needed to 'get away.' Although this place is hardly the Caribbean. Apparently you aren't the only one concerned about my well-being." He aimed a smirk at me. I couldn't summon the energy to scowl back.

His smile faded and he studied me, as if the absence of a hate-filled glare had tipped him off to my mood. "Hey," he said, all dryness vanishing from his tone. "Are you okay?"

It was exactly what I had said to him earlier that same afternoon. It made me want to laugh, but I was afraid that if I did, I would end up crying instead.

I just shrugged and looked away, toward the pond in the distance. I hoped he'd take the hint and leave me alone.

But this was Jace Wayland, and the very notion that he could butt out of my business was laughable.

"You've been crying," he observed, and my face instantly felt like it had caught fire, burning with mortification. I quickly turned it away, horrified that it was so obvious. And why would he point it out? Did he have zero experience with the female sex?

"You know," said Jace, "I've heard tales that it can help a person feel better if they confide in a friend. And since none of your friends are around, you'll have to settle for me."

"I'm not going to confide in you, Jace."

"Why not? You know I won't breathe a word you say to anyone."

"I find that hard to believe," I muttered.

Jace stood up, suddenly and fluidly, and walked toward me, his hands in the pockets of his large coat. He stopped in front of me and tipped his head to one side, appraising me like a fine piece of art. I tried to muster up a good, scorching glare, but my heart wasn't in it.

"Clary," he said, his voice softer than I'd ever heard it. "I swear I won't say anything. This conversation can be between you and me. I promise."

I opened my mouth to tell him to buzz off, but his eyes caught mine and held them. He looked sincere, more serious than I could ever remember him looking, and my resolve fluttered away. Besides, if I had really wanted to get away from him, I could have left the second we'd noticed each other. The fact that I was still standing here said that there was a part of me that actually wanted to talk to him. How bizarre.

To my horror, a lump started rising in my throat, and my eyes were beginning to sting. I forced the tears back, turning my face away and pretending I was suddenly very interested in a couple walking on the path nearby, holding hands. When I was certain I wasn't going to start bawling, I looked back at him.

"You remember what Aline said, the day I hit her?" I said, fighting to keep my voice casual and level.

Jace's eyes roved over my face in a way that made me feel uncomfortable. "Yeah," he said after a pause. "I remember."

I trusted we were talking about the same thing, and cleared my throat to continue. "My mom and I talked about it today. Turns out it's true. My dad is in prison." My voice cracked at the end. I couldn't look at him suddenly, so I stared at my feet.

I don't know what I expected. A mean comment? Surely even Jace wasn't cruel enough to make fun at a time like this. Maybe I thought he would just walk away, not knowing what to say. The tiniest, stupidest part of my brain hoped he would pull me into a hug like Simon would, tell me he was sorry, put his hand against my hair—

_No. _I quickly shut that voice up. I was just upset, that was all. Just desperate for human comfort.

Jace leaned his shoulder against the tree we stood beside, his face thoughtful. "My dad meant everything to me," he said.

I looked up at him, a little shocked. Was he seriously going to make this about him?

"Don't look at me like that," he said, lips twitching as he held back a smile. "I'm going somewhere with this. Bear with me, okay?"

I gave him a doubtful look but didn't interrupt. He hesitated, his eyes staring past me at something I couldn't see, and I suddenly caught something in his words I hadn't before—his dad had meant everything to him. Meant, as in past tense.

"My mom died when I was a baby, so he was kind of the world to me." He rubbed the back of his neck, looking surprisingly uncertain. It was a little endearing. "He taught me everything. I learned more from him than any teacher."

"What happened?" I said quietly, knowing that something had.

Jace's expression didn't change, but I saw his eyes harden. "He died," he said. "When I was ten."

"I'm so sorry." It struck me that I was offering him sympathy when I was the one who'd just learned something traumatic, but I meant it. I'd known that the Lightwoods had adopted Jace, or at least fostered him, and they seemed like a close family. At least, from what I'd heard, and from how I saw Isabelle, Alec, and Jace act around each other at school. But he'd lost both of his parents when he was young. At least I still had my mom. At least my father was still alive, incarcerated or not.

"I hate it when people do that," Jace said, startling me.

"Do what? Die?"

He gave me a dirty look. "Funny, Fray. I hate it when people say they're sorry for no reason. I don't understand why people always apologize for things that aren't their fault."

"I'm not apologizing," I said. "It's a way of—empathizing. Of saying that I'm sorry you're unhappy."

"I'm not unhappy," he objected. "Only people with no purpose are unhappy. I have a purpose." He paused, and I saw him clench his jaw. "Besides, my father taught me never to apologize unless I mean it, unless I can feel the words and understand what they stand for, and what it means that I'm saying them," he said, expression fierce.

_Would you ever apologize for any of the things you've done to me? _I wondered. _For calling me names, starting rumors, tripping me, inviting me to that party just to humiliate me, bringing me into this mess, laughing at me when I saved your life?_

Of course not. What a stupid thing to wonder.

"I do mean it," I told him. "I'm sorry for your father." I was tempted to ask how he'd died, but I didn't quite dare.

"No use giving him sympathy. He won't know about it," he answered with a shrug.

We were both quiet for a moment. "Why did you tell me that?" I asked finally.

"Because sometimes it helps to hear about others' misfortunes when you're upset," he said with a wry smile. "Misery loves company, you know."

I gave him a look, and his smile slid away.

"You told me something personal just now," he said, turning his gaze casually away from me. "I thought I'd return the favor."

I stared at the side of his face, wishing he'd look at me, but he didn't. I wanted a good look into his eyes, to see what he was really thinking. Why would he do that? Why did he feel like he could share those things with me?

"He killed three people," I blurted out. "There was something wrong with him, and he didn't take his medication. He could have killed my mom, but he didn't. He went on trial and he didn't care whether he was locked away or not. He didn't care that he'd be leaving my mom alone. And when I was born, they offered to let him meet me. He didn't want to. My mom said it was because he was ashamed of himself. But why would that matter? How would a baby know what murder was, or that her father had committed it?" My voice was starting to rise, pressure building behind my eyes again. I broke off and blinked rapidly, exhaling sharply and trying to control myself.

Jace had gone back to watching me, his gold eyes missing nothing. "You don't think he was ashamed." He said it as a statement, not a question.

"No."

"What do you think, then?"

It was too personal to say. Why was I saying any of this to Jace Wayland in the first place? Because he was the first person I'd come across in this vulnerable state? I was pathetic.

I didn't have to say it. He guessed it just from the look on my face.

"You think he didn't love you," he said. "You think he didn't care."

"Hard to think anything else," I said with a bitter laugh.

"Why don't you want to believe that he might have loved you?" he asked, tilting his head toward me. "Is it so impossible to accept that someone might care about you?"

Why did he have to look so intense when he said it? It made it so hard to hold his gaze. My eyes wandered around the park, my cold fingers twisting nervously together. "I don't know," I said at last.

I thought I heard him sigh, and he leaned away from me again. I was seized with a sudden fear that he was going to turn around and leave. I searched frantically for something to say and blurted out the first thing that came to me.

"What are you doing here, really?" I demanded. As soon as I said it, I realized that I honestly wanted to know. I held up a hand as he opened his mouth to reply. "And don't give me that crap about Alec sending you here to relax. It seems pretty unlikely that we would both end up in the same place at the same time, in New York City."

His mouth quirked up at the corners and he raised one eyebrow. Dang it, I'd always wanted to be able to do that. "If you're suggesting that I'm following you," he said, "I should point out that I was here first."

"So you're saying this is a coincidence?"

"No." His smile widened. "But maybe it's fate."

I snorted, but I had to fight back a blush.

"And I think we both know that it's far more likely that you're stalking me," he added.

"Oh, really?" I said sarcastically.

"I can hardly blame you," he said reassuringly. "I am breathtakingly attractive."

"Go ahead and tell yourself that," I said, and a grin flickered across his face. It disappeared a moment later as he glanced at his watch.

"I should probably get going," said Jace. "You were right about one thing—Alec didn't send me here. He doesn't know where I am, which means he'll be freaking out when he discovers I'm gone." A small part of my mind whispered that he'd completely avoided my question, that he hadn't told me why he was here. I was too distracted by what he'd said to ask again, though.

"Why wouldn't you tell him?" I said, shocked. "After everything that's happened, I think you at least owe him the comfort of knowing where you are—"

"Jeez, Fray," he said, rolling his eyes. "You're beginning to sound like Alec. All high-and-mighty and acting like you rule my life. It won't kill him if he misses me for a few hours, will it?"

"What if he goes out looking for you?" I protested. "What if he gets hurt?"

"Alec isn't weak," Jace answered. "He can take care of himself."

"It was still a thoughtless thing to do," I scolded, and it struck me how much I sounded like my mom. I blinked and quickly shut up. What right did I have to be rebuking him? What he did wasn't my business.

"I'll beg for his forgiveness the second I lay eyes on him," he said. "Now I think we should both get going. I have to meet Sebastian, and now I also have to repent my sins to Alec. And you probably have some geeky thing to go to with Lewis," he said, earning a glower from me. His eyes glanced upward. "And I don't like the look of those clouds."

I opened my mouth to reply, but was interrupted by a low, ominous rumble of thunder. We both tipped our heads back at the same time, looking up at the sky, as the clouds stopped reserving themselves to a few sprinkled raindrops and unleashed their deluge.

I fought the urge to smack my head against the tree trunk. If I could have picked something to make this day any worse than it already was, I would have chosen being caught in a huge rainstorm without a coat, with Jace.

I instinctively backed up against the tree, trying to shelter beneath its measly branches. I heard Jace swear as the rain hit us. "Are you stupid, Fray?" he said, reaching out and grabbing my arm. "Haven't you ever heard that you aren't supposed to stand under trees during lightning storms?"

"But it's raining!" I protested.

"Really?" he said, pushing sopping hair out of his face. "I hadn't noticed."

I scowled at him but let him pull me away from the tree. The rain hit me even harder in the open. I raised my arms over my head in a pathetic attempt to shield myself, running blindly forward as Jace steered me in the direction he wanted me to go; his hand pulsated with heat against my arm. He could have pushed me right into the pond and I wouldn't have seen it coming—and probably wouldn't have gotten any wetter than I already was, either.

Abruptly, the torrent stopped attacking every inch of me it could reach. I lowered my hands and blinked rain from my eyes. We were standing underneath a small gazebo nestled in the trees. Rain dripped from the roof like a waterfall, sealing us in.

"Well, this is just fantastic," I muttered, impatiently shoving my dripping hair out of my face. "The one day I go out. The one day!"

"It's not so bad," said Jace, looking perfectly at ease as he leaned against one of the posts holding up the gazebo. He stared out at the rain with an almost peaceful expression. "I've always liked storms."

I didn't tell him that thunder unnerved me. He'd only make fun of me for it. I folded my arms tightly, hoping I could pass off my attempt to stay warm for irritation.

I must not have been very convincing, because when I glanced at Jace, he was watching me. "You aren't wearing a coat." He sounded like I had committed a personal offense against him.

"Yeah, well, I left my apartment in a hurry. I'm lucky I remembered to put on shoes."

"Pity you didn't forget your pants," he remarked, and I stuck my tongue out at him.

"It didn't seem important at the time," I said.

"That was extremely careless of you." His voice was layered with exaggerated exasperation. "If you wanted me to start stripping off my clothing, you could have gone about this in a much more tasteful way."

"What are you talk—" I broke off as he shrugged out of his coat, closing the distance between us and holding it out for me to take.

I stared at it, then at him. "No thanks."

"Don't be stupid," he said, slightly marring the nice gesture. "You're clearly freezing your ass off, Fray. Put on the coat. It's dripping wet anyway, so it doesn't do me much good."

For a second, I wondered if this was a trick. Then I immediately felt foolish. He'd been wearing the coat five seconds ago. He hadn't had time to hook it up with a booby trap. Besides, no one would be around to witness his success.

I didn't want his coat. I didn't want to accept any kindness from him. After everything he'd done, it felt almost cruel for him to be nice—I knew, when he was surrounded by his friends again, he would be back to the same old Jace, abhorrent and mean as always.

But I was pretty cold.

I reached out and hesitantly took hold of the coat. I tried to tug it out of his hand, but he wouldn't let go. My face was already collapsing into a glare as I looked up at him. "Very funny, Jace—" I broke off.

He wasn't smirking or grinning at me. He was just staring, like he'd just realized something and it had frozen him. He didn't seem to notice he was still clutching the coat.

"Jace?" I fought the urge to touch my face self-consciously. Was there something on it?

Abruptly, he blinked, and his trance seemed to break. He released the coat and stepped back, retreating to the post he'd been leaning against before. He adopted the same slouched position, but he didn't look as relaxed as before.

I shrugged the coat on and almost sighed at the immediate warmth it brought, still left over from Jace's body heat despite the fact that it was wet. It smelled heavenly. I wanted to ask what cologne he used, but that probably would have come across as creepy. My misgivings about accepting it disappeared at the relief it brought me. It was way too big on me, the sleeves hanging past my hands and the hem practically reaching my knees. I felt like a child in it.

I looked at him, leaning against the gazebo post with his arms crossed and his head turned to the side, his eyes on the storm. His shirt was damp, though the coat had saved it from getting the worst of the rain, and little raindrops traced wet lines down his face, falling from his hair in a steady rhythm.

"Now you're going to be cold," I protested, trying to tell my hands to take the coat off and hand it back, but they wouldn't obey. The warmth was too wonderful.

"I'm invincible," he answered with a smirk, without taking his eyes off the rain. "I don't get cold."

"That's ridiculous. Everyone gets cold."

"Everyone except for the great Jace Wayland."

I rolled my eyes, even though he wasn't looking.

We stood underneath the gazebo in silence for a while, broken only by the occasional growl of thunder. It felt awkward to me, but he didn't seem bothered by it. After a while, I grew tired of standing and sat down on the wooden floor. It was cold, but I didn't mind. I leaned against the post opposite Jace's and followed his lead by staring at the rain. It didn't seem terribly interesting to me, but apparently he found it fascinating.

"I've been trying, you know," he said, so suddenly that I looked over in surprise. I could only see part of his face; the rest was turned to the storm.

"Trying what?" I said blankly.

"To remember."

I tensed. "Oh. That."

"Yes, that." He closed his eyes, and I was struck again by how tired he looked. His face was pale and there were dark circles under his eyes. He didn't look much better than he had that afternoon.

I waited. He didn't say anything else. "And?" I prompted.

"And I remembered something," he said, so quietly I almost didn't hear him over the pounding of the rain on the roof.

I unconsciously leaned forward. "You did? When? What was it?"

"Just now, actually," he said, a smirk tugging the corner of his mouth.

I thought about how he'd gone so rigid when he'd handed me the coat, staring at me like something had just dawned on him. I pulled myself to my feet with the gazebo railing, trying and failing to conceal my eagerness. "What did you remember?"

He opened his eyes and turned his face halfway toward me. "You," he said, his voice still soft.

Confusion sparked inside me. "Me? What are you talking about?"

"I remember you were there."

At first, panic was my reaction. He remembered I was there? What did he mean? That I'd been the one to stab him? Why would that be in his memory when it hadn't even happened?

Then he went on. "I vaguely remember finding your diner," he said, wrinkling his nose in thought. "I think I was about to go inside, but I heard a noise in the alley and I went back there, instead. You were standing by a Dumpster. You looked terrified." He half smiled before sobering up again. "You said something to me. I can't remember what. Then I fell." He slanted a sideways look at me. "You helped me."

"That's what I've been saying," I said, unable to put the right amount of derision in my voice.

He exhaled, and for one wild moment, I was certain he was going to apologize for laughing at me when I'd told him I'd helped save his life. But he didn't say anything else. I scolded myself for feeling disappointed.

"Is that why you're so tired?" I said after a minute of silence. "Because you're…trying so hard to remember?"

"That's part of it," he admitted. "Among other things."

"What other things?" I asked without thinking.

His familiar smirk wiped away the weariness on his face. "Why, Gingerbread," he said, pressing a hand to his chest. "Since when are you so nosy? Or is this just your heartfelt concern showing through?"

"Forget it." I turned angrily away from him. "I should have known you couldn't take anything seriously."

"That's not fair," he said, sounding genuinely injured. "What about that whole conversation we just had? I took the story about your father seriously, didn't I?"

I didn't answer, because I knew it was true. Jace could take things seriously when he wanted to, but it frustrated me that remembering his almost-killer didn't constitute seriousness.

There was a pause, and then he spoke. "I can't sleep," he said slowly. "Everyone thinks that I don't care about what happened. They think I just brushed it off. You aren't the only one that thinks I don't take anything seriously." He interrupted before I could object. "Don't deny it. You don't think I gave much thought to that night, do you? Neither does Isabelle, or Alec. You said yourself he thinks I'm shrugging it off like it's no big deal."

"It's not our fault you treat everything like it's a joke," I said.

Anger flashed in his eyes and a muscle in his jaw jumped. "I don't see how it's any of your business," he said, a touch of wintry coldness entering his voice.

"Do you care about this, Jace?" I said.

"Of course I do!" he burst out, startling me with the volume of his voice. "How can I not? It's like everyone forgets that _I'm _the one that was stabbed, _I'm _the one everyone whispers about when they pass me in the hall, outside of school, everywhere, and _I'm _the one that can't remember anything about it, except for little blurs here and there." He ran his hands through his wet hair in agitation, causing it to stick up in spikes.

I observed his outburst, trying to hide my shock. I'd never seen Jace so upset, or so…real.

Suddenly, his expression cleared, smoothing out again. "Sounds like the storm's letting up," he observed, striding to the opening of the gazebo and peering out. I realized he was right; water still dripped off the roof of the gazebo, but other than that the rain had stopped. The sudden absence of the torrent hitting the roof made the silence seem thick. A faint rumble of thunder echoed in the distance, already far away.

I felt a strange mixture of relief and disappointment. Being trapped in a gazebo with Jace Wayland wasn't how I'd wanted to spend my evening; in fact, not long ago, it would have been my definition of a nightmare. But we'd actually talked today. I'd gotten a little insight into his life, who he was, and he no longer seemed quite as terrible as I'd always thought.

I wanted to say something, offer him some words of comfort, about what he'd just confessed. He was right, in some ways; I'd assumed that Jace had lived through the ordeal and then put it out of his mind. But he hadn't. He was losing sleep over it, wondering and wondering who could have attacked him that night, angry and frustrated that he couldn't remember their face. The words were on the tip of my tongue, words that might ease some of his anguish, but I swallowed them back. His face was carefully neutral, and he'd clearly already closed the discussion. He didn't want anything from me, least of all my pity, or my comfort.

"I suppose you have to go and meet Sebastian," I said, curling my hand around the wet gazebo railing. "Nice…uh, talk."

"Yeah," he agreed without looking at me. I searched his voice for sarcasm, but I couldn't detect any. Then again, his back was to me, and he could very well be smirking.

"Listen, Jace," I said quietly, nervously squeezing the railing. "Thanks. For trying to remember."

I thought I saw his shoulders tense. "I still don't understand why it's so important to you," he said.

I didn't answer.

"You have a way of getting home?" he asked, leaning halfway out of the gazebo as if itching to leave it.

"Sure," I said. "I can call my mom or Luke."

"Can't you just take a taxi?"

"I don't have money."

I heard him mutter something under his breath, something that probably wasn't very complimentary. I glared at the back of his head.

Then, to my horror, he started reaching into his pocket. If I borrowed money from Jace, I would never live it down.

"No," I said quickly. "I'm fine. I don't need any help."

Jace let out a heavy sigh. "Clary," he said, slowly and distinctly, turning slightly so he could look at me. "You saved my life. I owe you a lot more than taxi fare. So just take the damn money, okay?"

I looked at him, speechless. Was he actually…grateful?

He snorted at my expression. "Don't let it go to your head." He strode over to me and pressed a few bills into my hand, taking my fingers and closing them around the money. "If you don't take it, I'll break into your house and slip it into your pants pocket," he said, sounding dead serious. Obviously, he was joking.

At least, I thought he was.

"Fine," I said stiffly. "But I'm going to pay you back first thing tomorrow morning at school."

"Silly Clary," he said, jumping lightly down the gazebo steps with a gracefulness that instantly made me jealous. He turned back to wink at me. "Tomorrow's Saturday."

* * *

_Thank you all so much for reading and reviewing! _


	27. Chapter 27

I spent most of the weekend at Simon's house. I couldn't bear the idea of sitting in my apartment, trapped between the close walls with my mom, who would sneak me sidelong looks and silently worry about me. I wasn't really angry with her; sure, I wished she wouldn't have waited seventeen years to inform me that my father was a criminal, but I could understand why she'd done it. I didn't like it, but I understood. Mostly.

She seemed reluctant to bring it up in conversation again. I wasn't sure if she was uncomfortable with the topic or if she was afraid I'd blow a gasket if it came up; either way, I was happy to leave it alone. But she still continued to act strangely around me, so I took refuge in the home of my best friend.

I told him everything, of course. We'd already had the talk about the possibility of my dad being in prison, but now I told him all the details. I didn't miss the shock that flickered through his eyes when I told him that he'd murdered three people.

"Oh, Clary," he breathed, and I stood up quickly, wandering over to his bookshelf and pretending to look through his vast collection of comics and manga, avoiding his eye. I didn't want to see the pity on his face.

"Are you mad at your mom?" he asked. "For not telling you?"

"No," I said slowly. "I mean, I don't think I am. It's too early to tell."

"Hasn't sunk in yet?"

"Guess not."

"It's not really my business, but I see where she was coming from," Simon said solemnly. "If I were in her place, I wouldn't want to tell my kid that their dad was…well, you know."

I turned my head to grin at him, taking him by surprise. "Their dad? Simon, do you need to tell me something?"

"Hold on!" he shouted, leaping to his feet. "You're twisting my words!"

"You should have told me sooner!" I sang, skipping out of his reach as he made a swipe for me. "I know of some great guys I could set you up with—"

"You're asking for it, Fray!"

The rest of the weekend went like that. Neither of us brought up the subject of my father again, to my relief. I just wanted to escape it for a while.

When I finally returned to my apartment for good Sunday evening, I discovered an alien coat in the closet. It took me longer than it should have to remember that I'd never given Jace his coat back. I'd stumbled home wearing it, hung it numbly in the closet, and forgotten about it. I groaned and smacked my forehead against the door. "Ouch," I muttered. Like I needed another reason to hunt Jace down.

* * *

On Monday, I marched into school with resolve. I had the money to reimburse Jace in my jeans pocket, and I was determined to track him down and give it back, no matter how much he tried to avoid me. His coat was tucked under my arm. The rain hadn't washed the great smell out of it; I tried to keep myself from inhaling dreamily whenever it neared my face.

However, it wasn't Jace that I ended up running into.

I was startled to see Sebastian milling near Jace's locker, looking restless and impatient, nothing like his usual cool self. When he saw me, he strode toward me with such purpose that I was tempted to turn and run in the other direction.

"Hi," I said weakly as he took my arm and towed me toward a quiet, relatively deserted corner of the hall. "How was your weekend?"

"We need to talk."

I swallowed. Had Jace told him about seeing me in the park? Had he relayed our entire conversation? My cheeks flared with heat at the thought; Jace had sworn to keep everything we said a secret. But Sebastian was his best friend, so was he excluded from that promise?

If Jace had said anything, even to Sebastian, I was going to kill him.

Sebastian tugged me closer, his eyes scouring the area around us for people who might be trying to overhear what we were saying.

"I got it," he whispered, dark eyes alight.

"Got what?" I tried to step back, but he kept his hand on my arm, holding me in place.

"The guest list. Isabelle gave it to me."

"Isabelle?" I said in surprise. I couldn't imagine her handing over her guest list to anyone. It was a piece of concrete proof that she'd held a party that night. If this fell into the wrong hands, she could be seriously busted.

"She just needed a little convincing," he said with a small smile. "When I told her it might help us find out who injured Jace, she gave it up willingly."

I felt a little proud of Isabelle for putting aside her own needs for Jace's. Maybe she wasn't as selfish as I'd thought.

"Okay," I said, the realization that we might finally have a lead dawning on me and sending excitement pumping through my veins. "Where is it? Can I see? Did you find anyone suspicious on there?"

"I can't take it out here. You never know who might…" He trailed off and his eyes flicked to a pair of sophomores, who were steadily inching their way closer in an effort to eavesdrop. He gave them a black look that sent them scurrying away.

"After school, then," I said, fixing him with a stern look. "I mean it, Sebastian. Don't go running off or anything. We have to look at this as soon as possible."

He nodded curtly. "After school." Then he loped away, his eyes sweeping over the people that watched him as if daring them to approach. No one did.

* * *

I was finding it hard to sit still through my classes. At first it was just a matter of getting to history; Jace couldn't escape me there. I was more than ready to get his coat out of my possession (and more importantly out of my locker), and the knowledge that I still owed him money was making me itch with irritation.

I sat in my desk at the back of the room, bouncing my legs impatiently as I waited for him to show up. The late bell rang, and still he didn't come. Mr. Tasker began his lesson. Jace's friends ducked in five minutes late and earned a detention apiece. Jace wasn't with them.

Apprehension spread through me, making me feel sick. He's just tired, I reasoned with myself. He probably stayed home to catch up on some sleep.

_Or, _an anxious voice put in, _he might be lying hurt somewhere, or kidnapped, waiting for someone to find him._

I shook the thought away. Jace was most likely playing hooky. It wouldn't be the first time.

But I couldn't stop thinking about how exhausted and pale he'd looked the other day.

I searched for Jace for the rest of the day, halfheartedly hoping that he'd just skipped history and I'd find him lurking somewhere else. His friends lingered by his locker, seeming a little lost without their alpha. I wondered if they'd still show up at the diner without him there.

"Who are you looking for?" Simon asked me once in the cafeteria. I must have been pretty obvious with my search.

"No one," I said. Simon snorted in disbelief but didn't press it.

I was so preoccupied with Jace that I almost forgot I was supposed to be meeting with Sebastian after school. If he hadn't been waiting for me outside after classes were over, I would have gone straight home without giving him another thought. He reached out and caught my arm as I walked through the front doors of the school, and scared the crap out of me, I might add.

"Jeez," I said, putting a hand to my pounding heart. "Don't do that!"

"You forgot, didn't you?" he said, a note of dryness in his voice.

"No," I said defensively. "I just didn't see you there." I could tell he didn't believe me.

"Come on." He led me down the steps of the school, walking quickly down the sidewalk as if afraid someone was trying to follow him. The problem was, someone was trying to follow him—me. And with my much shorter legs, I was having an awfully hard time keeping up.

"Sebastian?" I panted. "Can you slow down?"

"We're almost there," was all he said.

He turned and abruptly entered what looked like a small, somewhat shabby diner, the sign out front informing me that it was called Taki's. I followed him inside with reluctance. The place was dim, with no windows, but cozy enough. The booths looked comfortable, and it wasn't overly crowded.

He went straight to a booth, looking like he came here all the time. At my questioning look, he explained, "We come here sometimes when we aren't at your diner. Jace and I came here all the time in middle school."

I slid into the booth across from him, setting Jace's jacket on the bench beside me. I'd kept it in my locker all day in hopes of seeing him, but he hadn't shown, and now I was still stuck with the thing.

I looked up from my perusal of the menu to see Sebastian removing something from his bag. He laid it flat on the table and slid it toward me.

"The guest list," he explained.

My eyes roved over it hungrily. It looked like a copy, faded in some areas where the ink was starting to run out. The original must have been hand written; the letters were curled and carefully printed, clearly Isabelle's handiwork. She'd gone to painstaking measures to plan out this party. I felt a little bad that after all that work, it had ended with Jace getting attacked.

"Would anyone on this list want to hurt Jace?" I asked without taking my eyes off it.

"I found one name that sticks out," Sebastian said grimly.

"Who?" I said, hoping I didn't sound too eager.

He turned to the second page and pointed to the very bottom of it. A name had been added at the end of the list, written sloppier than the others had been, as if it had been an afterthought. I looked up at Sebastian in disbelief.

"Magnus Bane?"

Sebastian just watched me, his eyes stony.

"No offense," I said, my excitement dying away, "but I don't think Magnus had anything to do with this."

"He was at the party," Sebastian replied. "He disappeared about halfway through."

"How would you know that?" I demanded. "Were you spying on him?"

"It was hard not to notice him," said Sebastian sarcastically. "He seemed to like being the center of attention. Maybe you heard the story of how he danced on top of a table? Not to mention all of that glitter." He shuddered.

"I happen to like his glitter," I said airily. "So you're saying…what? He stopped dancing on tables and drawing attention to himself? That hardly means he could have left the party and hunted Jace down, Sebastian."

"He's a suspect, nevertheless. It's hard not to notice when a person like that leaves a room, Clary."

"Maybe he went off with someone for some privacy," I said with a shrug. I was trying not to let on how much his accusation bothered me.

"Isabelle didn't want to invite him to the party in the first place."

"So why did she?"

"She didn't. It was Alec."

That explained the sloppy handwriting. But why would Alec want Magnus at the party?

I thought I had an idea of why, but I certainly wasn't going to say it to Sebastian.

"I just don't think Magnus has it in him," I said firmly.

"I think we should at least investigate," Sebastian insisted.

"We aren't detectives," I argued. "How are we supposed to investigate without him realizing something's going on?"

He gave me a small smile and I groaned.

"Sometimes I get the feeling that you just want me to help you spy on everyone," I said.

"It's not my fault you're small and inconspicuous," he said mildly.

I snorted. "Gee, thanks." Then I grew serious, twisting my fingers nervously together and dropping my eyes to the list again. "The thing is…I don't want to spy on Magnus. He seems like a pretty good guy."

"Come on, Clary," said Sebastian with a touch of impatience in his voice. "Can you honestly say that you don't suspect him at all? It's plain knowledge that Jace has antagonized him in the past. Magnus isn't a huge fan of him." His lips twisted somewhat ruefully. "Or of me, for that matter."

I was about to open my mouth to say that of course I didn't suspect Magnus, but his words gave me pause. It was true that Magnus couldn't stand Jace and his group. I thought about the excitement in his eyes when I'd told him about how I'd slugged Aline, the satisfaction. But that was all just petty stuff, right? He didn't actually want any of them to get hurt...

I shook my head, suddenly wanting to be anywhere but in that small diner, sitting across from Sebastian. I couldn't understand his conviction that Magnus had something to do with Jace's injury, but some of his points made sense.

"I'll keep an eye on him," I said reluctantly. I pointed a finger at Sebastian. "But I'm not going to follow him home and spy on him from the bushes."

Sebastian smiled. "Thank you," he said, sounding sincere. "This will help us, Clary. You'll see." He reached out as if it touch my hand, and out of surprise, I pulled back. He sighed and gave me a knowing look before rising.

"You're leaving?" I said, startled. "We haven't even ordered yet—"

"I have to meet someone," he answered evenly. "I'm sorry I couldn't stay. I'm happy to pay the check, of course." He reached into his pocket and laid out a wad of bills without bothering to count them.

"Hold on," I protested, but he was already turning and heading toward the door. I scowled at the back of his white head. Who invites someone out to eat and then bails before the waiter even takes your order?

Suddenly I was calling his name, and the new note in my voice stopped him, though he didn't turn.

"Sebastian?"

"What?"

"Where's Jace today? Is he okay?"

There was a pause. "He wasn't feeling well," he said softly. "But he'll be better by tomorrow, I'm sure."

Rather than reassure me, his words made my stomach clench even tighter with apprehension. So Jace really wasn't playing hooky—he was ill. What if it was serious? What if it was related to his stab wound?

_Or, _a scolding voice said in my head, _what if Sebastian is just covering for him for skipping school? _

But I couldn't get rid of the nagging feeling that something was wrong with Jace.

* * *

"Ugh!" I chucked my sketchpad to the floor out of pure frustration and scowled at it. How long had it been since I'd actually managed to draw anything? When would this stupid block end?

"You shouldn't abuse your poor sketchbook like that, Clary," said Simon, stooping down to pick it up with so much tenderness you'd think he was handling a newborn.

"Shut up," I said, snatching it back and trying not to smile.

"You've been strangely quiet today," he observed, pushing his soggy salad around his lunch tray with a plastic fork. "What's with the grouchiness?"

"It's just that…" I lowered my eyes to the blank page of my sketchbook, which Simon had thoughtfully placed back on the table. "Jace is gone again," I said in a nearly inaudible voice.

Simon snorted so loudly I wouldn't have been surprised if the whole cafeteria heard. "That's what's bothering you? Jace's absence? You know, not that long ago that would have been cause for celebration."

"I just need to return his coat," I said quickly. "And pay him back for the taxi fare."

"Just hand it off to Sebastian to pass along," said Simon with a shrug. "You're always chitchatting with him, aren't you?"

I thought I heard just the faintest note of resentment in his voice, and I gave him a sidelong look. Simon knew that Sebastian was only trying to help, and he managed to keep his disapproval toned down because of that. But of course he still wasn't happy about the time we spent together. I could hardly blame him.

I wanted to say something, tell Simon that no matter what, he would always be my best friend, but I didn't think that was what he wanted to hear. It would only embarrass him to find out that I'd noticed his jealousy.

So instead I said, "You're right. Maybe I'll do that."

I picked up my pencil again and let the tip hover over the blank paper, vast and white and hopeless. I'd taken to bringing my sketchpad everywhere, just in case inspiration hit me and I could suddenly draw again. But so far, luck had evaded me.

My thoughts wandered away from my artist's block to Jace. It was Wednesday, and Jace still hadn't come to school. I'd tried to hunt Sebastian down to ask about him, but the opportunity hadn't presented itself. The cramped feeling in my stomach that felt suspiciously like worry made me feel unsettled. Simon was right; this should be an occasion for rejoicing. So why was I so concerned about the fact that Jace wasn't in school?

I just needed to return his coat. That was all.

Why couldn't I just pass it on through Sebastian? Simon was right—again. There was no reason for me to wait to give it to him in person.

And yet, I made no plans to hand the coat or the money off to Sebastian.

A group of people passing our table caught my eye, and I looked up. It was Isabelle's pack. She strode at their head with Alec beside her. They were completely ignoring their entourage; they had their heads close together, murmuring softly. There was worry in the lines on their foreheads. I could think of only one thing that would make them look so concerned.

I stood abruptly, startling Simon into silence. I realized too late that he'd been in the middle of a sentence.

"Sorry," I said, already climbing over the bench of the table. "I have to do something really fast. I'll be right back, okay?"

Turning away from Simon's slightly wounded expression, I hurried after the group that had just flowed past, weaving between the other kids until I reached Isabelle and Alec.

Alec spotted me first. He took one look at me and sped up, leaving both me and his sister in the dust. I tried not to be offended by his aversion to me. I guess our last conversation hadn't exactly made us best friends.

"Isabelle?" I said. She glanced over at me, puzzled but not necessarily surprised. "Can I talk to you?"

Several people from her group were hovering uncertainly nearby, wondering if they should wait or go on without her. She waved them on impatiently, and they hesitantly edged away toward their usual table.

"It's about Jace, isn't it?" she guessed, startling me with her bluntness.

"Y-yes," I said, deciding it wouldn't help anything to lie. "He hasn't been in school for the last few days. He didn't look so good last Friday…and I have to return his coat…"

"I'll return the coat," she said, her eyebrows drawing together like she just couldn't figure me out. "And Jace isn't feeling well." Her guarded tone and the way her dark eyes bored into me hinted that she still didn't trust me, despite that moment of connection we'd shared behind the diner.

"So he's sick?" I said, ignoring the comment about the coat.

Isabelle gave me a long look, as if deciding whether or not to answer. "It's his stomach," she finally said, and the way she lowered her voice made me think she didn't mean he had the flu. "It's been bothering him."

It felt as if the temperature had just dropped, leaving me feeling cold. "You mean his injury?"

She rolled her eyes. "Duh."

"But he's okay?" I realized I might have been coming off as too concerned—what if she went home and relayed everything I was saying straight to Jace himself? I tried to relax my stance and look like I was just inquiring politely. She didn't seem to buy it.

Her eyes gleamed. "You're worried," she said slyly.

"No," I said at once. "I mean, we got caught in that thunderstorm, and the rain probably wasn't good for him. I wanted to be sure…" I trailed off as her smirk dropped away.

"What do you mean, you were caught in the thunderstorm? Both of you together?" The astonishment in her voice made me groan inwardly. So Jace hadn't mentioned seeing me in the park. Perfect.

"Yeah, we ran into each other at Central Park," I said, still striving for that casual tone. "It started raining while we were there."

Isabelle scrutinized me for a long moment. Abruptly, her expression changed, softened around the edges until it looked less sharp and haughty. "Clary, I'm going to tell you something, and I want you to listen hard, okay?"

"Okay," I said uneasily. I wasn't sure I wanted to hear what she had to say.

"Be…careful around Jace. Don't get carried away or anything."

I stared, opening my mouth to answer, but no sound came out, and I was left gaping stupidly at her.

"I like you, Clary," she said, shocking me even more. "You may be weird and unnaturally short, but you're more real than most other people I know. That's why I'm telling you this."

"And what exactly are you telling me?" I said unsteadily.

Isabelle's eyes locked with mine. "I just don't want you to get your heart broken."

Then she turned and strode away, leaving me standing speechless and dumbstruck.

Get my heart broken? Fat chance of that happening, seeing as how I hated Jace.

Because I did. I did hate him.

Didn't I?

* * *

The next day, Magnus took the seat next to me in first period again. I instantly tensed when his strongly perfumed scent washed over me. I couldn't get Sebastian's words out of my head. What if his suspicions were right? What if he was responsible for hurting Jace? Was that the reason he'd taken to sitting next to me?

I'd said that I would keep an eye on Magnus, but suddenly that was the last thing I wanted to do.

Unfortunately, ignoring him was not an option, either, because Magnus himself wouldn't have it.

"So, Clary," he said conversationally, and his tone, calm but with an undercurrent of something else, made me certain that he somehow knew about what Sebastian had said at Taki's. "You're friends with Alec Lightwood, aren't you?"

I looked at him, bewildered. "Not really. I mean, we've spoken a few times…"

"Has he seemed…jumpy to you lately?" Magnus asked, his strange-colored eyes watching me carefully.

Yes. He'd seemed more than jumpy, but for all I knew he was like that all the time. But I just pressed my lips together and looked down at my notebook, unwilling to say anything.

"I'll take that as a yes," Magnus murmured.

For a while silence fell between us. The teacher began his droning lecture, and my mind automatically logged out. I rested my chin in my hand and fixed my eyes on the front of the room while my mind skittered off to wherever it wanted to be.

Which turned out to be the subject of Jace.

I wasn't sure, but I didn't think he'd come to school today, either. I wouldn't know for certain until history, but I'd looked for him in the halls and seen no sign of his golden hair flashing at me. As much as I didn't want to admit it, his absence gave me a bad feeling. What if he was seriously hurt? What if he'd gotten sick from walking coatless through the rain last Friday? If that was the case, then it would be my fault. I'd been the one who had forgotten to return the stupid coat.

Something fluttered onto my desk, brushing lightly against my elbow. I looked down in surprise. It was a small piece of paper with careful, looping handwriting. _I think someone is blackmailing Alec. _

For a long minute I could only stare at the note. I shot a look at Magnus, but he was watching the front of the room, slumped comfortably in his seat, giving no sign that he'd just handed me an extremely cryptic note.

I turned it over and scribbled back, _What do you mean? _

I waited until the teacher had his back to the room before daring to pass it back to Magnus. I felt a little silly; I hadn't passed notes since fifth grade.

Magnus tore out an entire piece of notebook paper and bent over it, beginning to write. I waited impatiently for him to finish, trying and failing to concentrate on the lecture.

Finally, he passed it smoothly toward me and then continued to look innocent. I cast him another look before lowering my eyes to the note.

_I've noticed he's acting a little strangely. Sometimes he finds papers in his locker, and when he reads them his face turns pale. He gets strange phone calls. He's been avoiding me._

Why would Alec have to be avoiding Magnus in the first place? They were in two completely different social circles. But then, I'd already started to develop a hunch about them, ever since Sebastian had said that Alec had made a point of inviting Magnus to Isabelle's party.

Instead of asking the intrusive question that my pen was itching to write, I scribbled, _Who would be blackmailing him?_

The paper hadn't been in his possession for more than a few seconds before it was sliding back onto my own desk. _That's what I'm trying to figure out. Any ideas?_

I frowned. Something was tickling in the back of my mind, trying to make itself known, but for the life of me I couldn't figure out what it was. I felt like I was missing something, but what?

The bell rang, and Magnus rose fluidly, deftly taking the note out from under my hand. He tore off a corner of it, scribbled something on the new scrap, and let it flutter to my desk. He stuffed the rest of the note in his bag and then turned to me with a wink. "Call me if you think of anything." He walked away without another word.

I looked down at the scrap of paper, a little dazed by what had just transpired. On it was printed a phone number, Magnus's, I assumed. My stomach clenched uncomfortably. This would probably make Sebastian happy; the more I knew about Magnus, the closer I got to him, the better chance I had of finding out whether or not he'd had anything to do with Jace's attack. But it felt all wrong to me; how could Magnus have done it?

* * *

It was getting difficult to fit all my books in my locker with Jace's coat taking up most of the room in there. When I reached history and found once again that Jace was absent, I seriously considered just handing the coat off to Isabelle or Sebastian and letting them give it to him. But that annoying, stubborn part of me couldn't stand the idea of conceding defeat.

I didn't know what was wrong with me. Why was it so important that I was the one to give his coat to him? It wasn't like he would care either way. But at any rate, I knew I wasn't going to be giving that coat up to Isabelle any time soon.

So if Jace wasn't going to show up to school, I was going to have to bring it to him.

* * *

_The quote in the last chapter was: "'...I don't understand why people always apologize for things that aren't their fault.' '__I'm not apologizing,' I said. 'It's a way of—empathizing. Of saying that I'm sorry you're unhappy.' '__I'm not unhappy,' he objected. 'Only people with no purpose are unhappy. I have a purpose.'" Congrats to Gymgal99, tealshoelaces, CannibleDuckWithAnAxe4, TheHerondaleGirl, 69shadesofgray, rcs17, ByTheAngel99, mysteriouslyhere, and Aryanna for finding it! I'll be sending your llamas in the mail. If you guessed the quote and I forgot to mention your name, I apologize, and I'll make sure you get your llamas immediately. _

_Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! Whoo hoo, 500 reviews! So excited! More Jace/Clary in the next chapter!_


	28. Chapter 28

"I'm sorry," said Simon, blinking rapidly. "But why do you want to go to Jace Wayland's house?"

I tried to look cool and collected, even though I could feel my cheeks warming. "I have to return his coat," I answered dismissively. "And I owe him some money."

Simon shook his head in confusion. "Why can't you just wait for him to come back to school? Or give it to one of his siblings?"

"I told you, it's my responsibility," I snapped. "And I can't keep that big-ass coat in my locker any longer. It's taking up all the space."

Simon narrowed his eyes at me, and then carefully removed his glasses and began cleaning them on his shirt. "You wanna know what I think?"

_No. _I knew that look. He was thinking something that would no doubt be embarrassing to hear out loud. But when Simon had something to say, he went ahead and said it, no matter how much I pleaded with my eyes for him not to.

"I think you're using this as an excuse to go and see him," he accused, placing his glasses back on his nose and fixing me with a piercing look.

"That's ridiculous," I sputtered. "Why would I want to do that?"

"There's not really any other explanation," he responded with a small shrug. "If you didn't want to see him, you wouldn't be going, would you? You'd wait till he came back to school. Or you'd let someone else bring him the stupid coat. You want to see him, Clary. Just admit it."

"I don't want to see him!" I said, perhaps a little too loudly. "End of story. Can you just please get his address from one of your stalker friends?"

"They are not stalkers," he said irritably. "They work for the office and it's their job to send out emails and letters to notify parents about school stuff. They are totally justified in knowing—"

"Face it, Simon," I cut in dryly. "They're stalkers. Should they even be doing stuff like that?"

"They're friendly with the secretary," he sighed, giving in. "She lets them do all the jobs they want. And I don't think they would appreciate hearing you call them stalkers."

"Fine, I give them my sincerest apology," I said. "Now can you just find out the address?"

"Okay, okay," he muttered. "But you owe me big, Fray."

I just rolled my eyes at him as he turned and walked away. Inwardly, I was jittery and impatient; I just wanted the end of the day to come. Now that I'd made my decision, I was eager to carry it out. I just needed to get to Jace's house before I let myself change my mind.

I had already securely locked away the voice in my head that talked me out of making stupid choices like this. I thought I could hear it screaming at me very faintly, but I made a point of ignoring it.

If I was perfectly honest with myself—and I usually wasn't—I wanted to see Jace. I thought about what Isabelle had said about his knife wound bothering him, and how she'd said with that playful look in her eye, _You're worried. _

So maybe I was worried. Maybe I did want to make sure he wasn't on his deathbed. It didn't mean we were friends or anything. Nothing had changed; I was just being the better person. I was just returning his coat, repaying the tiny kindness he'd performed by giving it to me in the first place.

_Denial, _the voice I'd thought I'd locked away chimed in smugly.

Scowling to myself, I stomped to class to wait impatiently through the rest of the school day.

Simon found me after seventh period. He didn't look too happy as he handed me a piece of paper with what was allegedly the Lightwood address printed neatly at the top.

"I really can't believe you're doing this," he said, shaking his head.

"I'll only be there for a minute," I insisted, hating the nervousness that was twisting my stomach into knots.

"Why didn't you just ask Isabelle for the address, anyway? You two seem to be pretty buddy-buddy lately," he said, somewhat sourly.

"Not really," I said truthfully. He didn't look convinced, so I went on, "We've only talked a few times, and on almost all of those occasions she threatened me at least once. And I don't think she'd want to disclose her address to me."

"So why are you going?" he groaned. "If they don't even want you there…"

"Thanks for getting this," I interrupted, waving the paper under his nose. "You're a great friend, Simon." I batted my eyelashes at him and coated my voice in sugar.

He glowered at me and crossed his arms over his chest. "Yeah, whatever." His expression softened a little, and I saw the concern behind his annoyance. "Are you sure this is a good idea, Clary? He's done awful things to you. If you're alone with him, in his own house, there's no telling what he might do."

"I'll be fine, Simon," I said gently, touched that he was worried about me. "There's really nothing to worry about, okay? We've been alone before, and he was…actually pretty nice."

Simon took this news in stride, though his face crumpled into another scowl. "Maybe I should come with you."

"You have to tutor," I reminded him.

"I could cancel."

"And get on the bad side of all those football jocks? Not your brightest idea, Simon." I mock-punched him affectionately on the shoulder. "I'll be just fine, okay? And if I get into any trouble, I'll speed dial you so you can come and beat him up. Sound good?"

He hesitated, but then nodded. "I might just beat him up anyway," he sniffed, and I laughed.

I took a taxi to Jace's house. I was wound tight as a wire on the ride there. Jace's coat was laid across my lap, and my hands were fisted tightly in the folds of the fabric. I could still smell a trace of his scent, but it was mostly masked by the less-than-pleasant smell of this particular taxi.

My head was screaming at me, _What are you doing? Go back! You're nuts! _But my body had no intention of listening.

When the taxi came to a stop, I stepped out and stood staring up at the huge church that sat in front of me. I looked down at the address in my hand, bewildered. Had Simon's friend gotten it wrong? Or had the taxi driver misunderstood me? I turned to ask him, only to discover that he'd already driven away.

I turned back to the church, chewing on my lip. Maybe I could go inside and ask for directions. Hopefully the driver had dropped me off only a few blocks from my desired destination.

It didn't look like a public church. There was a gate and an intercom on the outside of it. Maybe it was only open on Sundays? I didn't have a lot of experience with churches, and though I could identify one by looking at it, I didn't know what the norm was for them. Maybe they all had gates and intercoms.

I pressed the button on the wall and waited, trying to pretend I was at a regular apartment buzzing up. A few seconds passed before a voice squawked out of the speaker. "Yes?"

"Um, hi, I was wondering if I could ask for directions to a place I'm trying to find," I said, feeling somewhat silly as I spoke to the little silver box.

There was a pause, and then the voice answered, "You can come in." There was a high buzz, and the gate swung open to allow me entrance.

I crept down the path toward the large front door, feeling intimidated by the building in front of me. I wasn't sure if I should knock or just wait there, since my presence was already known. I ended up knocking anyway, and then stepped back to fidget nervously.

The door opened, and a woman stood before me. I was a little startled by her; I don't know what I'd been expecting, but it had been along the lines of some kind of priest or nun. But this woman looked perfectly ordinary, dressed in jeans and a blouse, with dark hair and sharp blue eyes that looked extremely familiar.

"How can I help you?" she asked, polite but aloof.

"I'm looking for this address," I said, handing her the piece of paper and wishing I could be certain my face hadn't turned red. "The Lightwoods live there, I think."

The woman took a moment to look the paper over, and then she lifted her eyes to mine.

"You've found it," she said calmly.

"Huh?" I said intelligently.

"I'm Maryse Lightwood. This is my home."

I looked at her, floundering with my thoughts and trying to come up with a response that wouldn't sound completely idiotic. They lived in a church? Why? At least I understood why her eyes looked familiar now; they were the exact shade of Alec's. This small but intimidating woman was the mother of Isabelle and Alec.

"And you are?" she said, her eyes taking in every bit of me, sharp and perceptive.

"Clary Fray," I stammered out. "I go to school with Jace."

"So you're here to see Jace." The look on her face was part exasperation, part amusement. I internally winced; I should have said I went to school with Jace, Isabelle, and Alec, so that it didn't seem so apparent I was here for him. How many other girls had come knocking at this door just to see him? She must have thought I was another one of his fans.

"I'm only here to return his coat," I said quickly, holding it up as proof. "And some money that I owe him."

She gave me a long look. "Jace isn't really up for visitors right now," she said at last. She held out her hand. "But I'd be happy to give him the coat and the money."

Like they had grown a will of their own, my hands clenched around the coat and drew it away from her reaching grasp. She raised an eyebrow, and I felt my face flush.

"Sorry," I said. "I don't know why I…" I shook my head and held the coat toward her, even as I felt a wave of disappointment go through me.

But Mrs. Lightwood didn't make another move to take the coat. She was watching me again, making me feel unnerved. "On second thought," she said thoughtfully, "maybe a visitor would do him good. Why don't you come with me?"

Surprised and a little flustered, I stepped over the threshold and into the spacious church, murmuring a thank you. Mrs. Lightwood nodded once, turned, and began to walk, most likely assuming I'd follow.

I hurried after her, staring around at my surroundings in awe. It didn't look much like a church on the inside. It was furnished just like any other wealthy house would be, portraits on the walls, drapes hung on the windows, rugs on the floor. As we turned down hallways, I was in wonder of the place, marveling at how a cathedral could have been turned into a house like this.

"I suppose you're wondering why we live in a cathedral," Mrs. Lightwood said. "We inherited the place from a relative. It hasn't been used as a church for years. It was transformed into a place of residence a long time ago. My husband and I moved here when I was pregnant with Alec. It may seem a little intimidating at first, but it's quite homey once you get used to it."

"That's…amazing," I said, and meant it. "I've never seen any place like this before. It's beautiful."

"Thank you," said Mrs. Lightwood, sounding pleased beneath her cool exterior. "Jace's room is just up these stairs. I think he'll be glad to have his coat back." She turned her head to smile at me, some of her aloofness thawing, and I decided that I liked her.

We mounted the staircase together without speaking again. She stopped in front of his door and knocked lightly. "Jace?" she said. "You have a visitor. Are you decent?" She opened the door without waiting for a reply.

She stood in the threshold, but I peeked around her to look in, curious about what kind of room someone like Jace would have.

It was surprisingly neat, aside from an unmade bed. At a glance, I didn't see a lot of sentimental or personal possessions; I could only see one picture, framed on his bedside table, but that was about it. His room seemed bland to me in comparison to my own, which was covered with my mother's and my drawings, photos of my mom, Simon, and Luke, and the various knickknacks I'd collected.

Jace was sprawled across his bed, his head hanging off the side. He held a book suspended over his face, his eyes lazily trailing back and forth across the pages. My skin began to burn when my eyes landed on him. He wasn't wearing anything but a pair of pants.

I quickly stepped back into the hall, afraid that my face was about to burst into flame. Mrs. Lightwood didn't seem concerned about my embarrassment, or about the fact that I'd seen Jace half-naked.

"Have you even moved from that bed all day?" she scolded.

"I can't seem to find the will to move," Jace replied. His tone was as droll as ever, but his voice sounded weaker and more tired than it usually did. "But I appreciate your heartfelt concern."

"Well, maybe you'll find the will when you've spoken with our guest a little," she answered.

I heard the bed springs creak as Jace shifted, and his voice drifted out of the room again, sounding irritated. "It's not Aline again, is it? I thought I told you not to let her in anymore."

"I didn't," she said stiffly. "She says her name is Clary Fray."

By this point I felt like sinking into the floor until I reached the center of the earth, where I could wait out the rest of my days in silent humiliation. What had I been thinking coming here? Had I completely lost my mind?

The bed creaked again. "Clary?"

Mrs. Lightwood stepped out of the room and smiled at me. "Go on in," she said, and with that she strode down the hall, leaving me alone.

I considered running after her, but I'd come too far to chicken out now. Taking a deep breath to calm myself, I entered Jace's bedroom.

That was something I never thought I'd do.

He hadn't moved all that far from his original position. He was still stretched out across his bed, though when I came in he propped himself up on his elbows so he could look at me. "Mind closing the door?" he said, and I automatically obeyed, feeling my heart drop as I sealed myself into the room with Jace.

Jace didn't seem to mind that he was shirtless in the presence of a girl he barely knew. He didn't seem to notice it at all, in fact. I, on the other hand, was quite aware of it. My eyes flew all over the room in an effort to stay away from the sight, though I couldn't keep myself from peeking. What? I'm only human!

I have to admit, I was kind of pissed that his body had to match his face. I'd been harboring some kind of petty hope that he would be scrawny and pale beneath his clothes, but of course he was as in-shape as any athlete I'd ever seen, with sculpted muscles and golden skin-irritatingly, hopelessly perfect.

It was sickening.

His hair was a total mess, and his face looked pale. The shadows under his eyes were deeper and darker than they had been the last time I'd seen him. He looked completely exhausted, and he could only offer me the ghost of a smirk. A sheen of sweat covered him, which made it that much harder to look at him. He had a clean white bandage wrapped around his middle, offering at least some coverage.

"Gingerbread," he said, his voice sounding hoarse. "What in the world could bring you to my humble abode?"

Too mortified to come up with a witty reply, I held his coat out to him. "You forgot this the other day," I said, my voice cracking humiliatingly.

Jace looked at the coat in my hands, then at me. "Could you bring it over?" he asked casually. "I'm finding it a little difficult to stand at the moment."

At first, I couldn't move my feet. They had glued themselves to the ground. I could only stare at him. His mouth started to turn up wickedly at the corners as my discomfort became obvious to him.

"Don't make me come to you," he said.

I forced myself to move, one foot in front of the other, until I was standing right next to his bed. It was not a place I wanted to be at the moment. I held out the coat again, and he took it, his eyes on mine.

"You came all the way here just to give me my coat?"

I reached into my pocket and removed the money I had carefully been setting aside for him. "For the taxi fare," I said stiffly, trying to cover up my embarrassment with hostility.

"Nice to know you can repay your debts, Ginge," he said, his fingers brushing mine as he took the money from my hand. He tossed it carelessly on his bedside table, next to the picture I'd noticed earlier. I glanced at it and saw that it was of a grinning, blonde-haired boy sitting on the shoulders of a laughing man.

I looked away quickly, swallowing hard.

"All right," he said, and I saw his slight wince as he shifted positions, the wince he tried to hide. "Why did you really come here?"

I started. "What do you mean?"

"I know you didn't come all this way just to give me an old coat and some change. So why did you?"

I opened my mouth, but I couldn't find the words to answer. What was I supposed to say? That I'd been worried about him? That I'd acted without thinking?

"I was sick of having your coat in my locker," I said roughly.

He arched an eyebrow. "So why didn't you give it to Isabelle?"

I pressed my lips together and settled for glaring at him.

To my astonishment, his eyes started to grow cold. "You're here to tell my parents."

"What?" I said, blinking.

He lowered his voice, shooting a look at the closed door as if afraid someone was listening on the other side. "I told you, I'm trying as hard as I can," he said, sounding agitated. His eyes looked a little feverish as he fidgeted on the bed, fruitlessly trying to get into a comfortable position. "I told you I remembered seeing you there. Isn't that enough for now?"

"What are you talking about?" I exclaimed.

He fixed me with a hard look. "You tell me."

It clicked. "You think I'm here to tell your parents that you were drunk?" I said incredulously, and he winced, throwing another look at the door. "I did not come here for that. What kind of person do you take me for?" I took a step toward the door, the urge to disappear rearing its head again. After everything that had happened, after that long and halfway civil talk in the park, he still thought I was capable of something like this? Of visiting him on the pretense of kindness when he was unwell, and telling his parents that he'd been wasted the night of Isabelle's party?

"Wait." His hand shot out and caught my wrist, taking me by surprise. There was a beat of startled silence in which we both stared at each other; I stood partway angled toward the door, braced to leave, tethered to the spot by his grasp.

Jace took a breath and slowly, almost reluctantly, released me. "I shouldn't have said that," he said, and I realized that was the closest I was going to get to an apology. Grudgingly, I turned away from the door again. "I just thought…well, it is a little strange that you came here just to return this, don't you think?" He held up the arm of his coat, giving it a look of doubt.

"I told you, it was taking up too much room," I muttered, unable to look him in the eye.

I felt a swoop of dread when his grin started to spread over his face. "You just wanted to see me," he said. "Didn't you?"

"No!" I said, too quickly and too loudly. I cleared my throat self-consciously. "It had nothing to do with that."

He sat up and slid closer to me. With him sitting on his bed and me standing, our heads were about level; I was just a tiny bit taller than him, a first.

"You were worried about me."

"I wasn't," I said stubbornly. I crossed my arms and glowered. "But next time, you shouldn't just skip a bunch of school without warning. I mean, you had just spent a day in the rain, coatless. What was I supposed to think? You could have caught pneumonia for all I knew!"

Jace laughed, a happy sound that was at odds with his ashen appearance. "Next time I'll make sure to call you when my stab wound acts up," he said, tilting his head to one side and giving me a half smile that, for reasons I preferred not to think about, set my heart to racing.

"So are you going to be okay?" I asked, trying to sound standoffish and probably failing at it. "It's not infected or anything, is it?"

Jace shook his head. "I'm fine." He said it impatiently, as if he were used to everyone asking him, and that was the answer he always gave. But was it the truth? Was he really fine?

Of course he wasn't fine. He'd told me himself that he barely slept anymore. That was probably playing a big part in his less-than-stellar health right now. He was struggling with the idea that someone could still be out there, looking for him. He wouldn't be "fine" until this whole thing was put to rest.

"Do you know Magnus Bane?" I blurted.

Jace gave me a strange look. "I know of him," he said slowly. "Why?"

I opened my mouth to say something noncommittal, but then I realized, what good would that do? Jace wouldn't appreciate being lied to and tiptoed around. He was more involved in this than anyone. He wasn't the one I should be keeping these things from. "Sebastian and I think that he might have had something to do with…that night," I said tentatively. I still wasn't sold on the theory, but I didn't bother mentioning that.

Instead of acting shocked or alarmed, Jace turned his eyes heavenward and heaved a sigh. "So now she's conspiring with my best friend," he grumbled. "I should have known he wouldn't be able to resist her charms."

"Did you even hear what I said?" I demanded, glaring at him. "What if Magnus was behind it?"

Jace gave me a scathing look. "You think Magnus could have hurt me? Clary, the guy takes two hours to do his hair. He doesn't exactly scream 'dangerous.'"

"You can't judge a book by its cover," I argued. "Think. Do you remember seeing him?"

"The night it happened? Yeah," he said, startling me. "He was dancing on table tops and getting wasted with the rest of them. I've got to give it to him, the guy's a party animal," he added admiringly.

"Be serious!" I swatted his shoulder without even thinking about it. Little prickles rushed up my arm as my hand touched his bare skin, and I automatically took a step back.

"I am being serious," he insisted, though I could clearly see the humor in his eyes. "I can remember a knife. Footsteps. Someone pushed me up against a building. And that's it. I don't remember smelling any of Bane's hair product, and if it had been him I'm pretty sure he would have left some glitter at the scene of the crime."

"You remember that stuff?" I said in disbelief. "You never told me any of that!"

He shrugged, though the look on his face told me he'd slipped up. "Guess I forgot."

"You've been keeping this from me," I accused, trying to push away the hurt that was trying to make its way forward. "You promised you would tell me everything you remember."

"Yeah, well, it's a little hard to think about all that, let alone share it with everyone else," he answered testily, gingerly leaning back on his hands. His face twitched, betraying the pain he felt, and he leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

I opened my mouth to continue arguing, but was distracted as my eyes fell to his chest. The most bizarre thought came to my head: _I would love to draw him._

Alarmed by the direction my thoughts were going, my eyes flicked back up to his face, only to find that he was watching me, a smirk tugging on his lips. He'd caught me staring. My face started to burn.

"Does my bare chest make you uncomfortable?" he asked me innocently.

"No," I said, though my beet-red face gave away my lie.

His smile widened. "I never knew you were that kind of girl."

"What kind?" I snapped, trying to will my face to return to its normal temperature.

"The modest kind," he answered matter-of-factly. His eyes grew more serious, his smile starting to fade. "It's cute."

Son of a nun, this was not the way to get me to stop blushing. I averted my eyes, staring hard at the picture frame by his bed while my thoughts stampeded over one another, senseless and jumbled.

"That's my dad." I started, glancing at him to see that he was staring at the photograph, too. Jace's voice had become quiet. "It's the only picture I have of him."

I didn't know what to say; the first words that came to mind were "I'm sorry," but he'd already made it clear that he didn't appreciate what he considered to be pointless apologies.

Instead I found myself saying, "I wish I could have met him."

Jace looked at me quickly, surprise showing in his gold eyes. "Why?" he asked, sounding wary.

"I…don't know," I said, because I honestly didn't. But there was something inside of me that liked the look of the laughing man in the picture, that wondered what he'd been like, whether he was anything like Jace. "He just looks like the kind of person I would have liked."

Jace was silent for a long time, his hand fisted on his leg, his eyes lowered so that I couldn't see the expression in them. His mouth turned down at the corners, and I worried that I'd upset him. Maybe he didn't like the idea of me wanting to meet his father. Maybe it even repulsed him.

But then he said, so softly it was hard to hear, "I think he would have liked you, too."

Something warm spread through my veins, slowing the thundering of my thoughts and heartbeat. I glanced at the digital clock beside the frame. "I should go," I murmured, backing toward the door, even though, bizarrely, I didn't want to leave yet.

"Thanks for the coat," he said casually, his eyes back on the picture frame. He smirked. "And for the concern."

I glared at him, but I don't think he saw.

I stopped at the door, one hand resting on the doorknob. I'm still not sure why I hesitated; maybe I felt the urge to say something else, something that would protect my dwindling dignity, something to make him feel better. Or maybe I sensed that he had something else to say, too.

"I remember you being at the hospital the night I was attacked," he said suddenly, just as I was about to give up and leave without another word. I looked over at him in surprise. "And I remember what I said."

My fingers squeezed the doorknob as more embarrassment gripped me. I looked down, braced for laughter, smirking, another insult.

Jace lay back against his pillows, his hands laced gingerly over his stomach. Staring at the ceiling, he said unconcernedly, "I don't think you're ugly."

I had completely lost the capacity for words, so I just nodded once and left, closing the door softly behind me. As Mrs. Lightwood let me out of the house, giving me a small, almost knowing smile, and I started toward the diner, I tried to identify the feeling coursing through me, the feeling that chased away the late autumn chill and left warmth in its place, but I couldn't figure out what it was for the life of me.

* * *

Simon was ready to pounce on me the next day at school. "How did it go?" he demanded. "He didn't do anything, did he? He didn't say anything offensive?"

"It was fine," I said, keeping my tone carefully neutral. It had been a lot better than fine. "I was practically in and out. Did you know he lives in an old church?"

"Don't try to deter me," he warned gravely. "Tell me everything. And don't say nothing interesting happened, because I won't believe you."

There was so much that Simon just didn't need to know about the conversation Jace and I had had. Personal things that I didn't want to share with anyone else. I told him about how sick Jace had looked, how his wound was bothering him; I told him how I'd returned the coat and money, and he'd cracked the usual jokes about it, but nothing too offensive. I didn't, however, go into what we'd said about his father, or the fact that he'd been shirtless, or the things he'd said that had sounded dangerously similar to compliments.

Simon seemed dissatisfied once my story was over, but perhaps he could tell I wasn't going to disclose any more information, because he let it drop.

"How was tutoring?" I asked, just to make sure the conversation didn't veer back into dangerous territory.

He scowled. "Awful. Richard's a moron. I'm convinced he never learned basic addition and subtraction. Seriously, he's—whoa, what's going on over there?"

Simon's sudden exclamation confused me at first. I followed his wide-eyed gaze to where a loose circle of students was beginning to form, looking both excited and a little apprehensive. I knew that circle—it was the telltale sign of a fight about to break out.

"Come on," I said, grabbing Simon's arm and dragging him over.

"Maybe we shouldn't get involved," he protested, looking nervous. "I don't want to have to witness anything to the cops—"

I rolled my eyes at him and dropped his arm, allowing him to leave if he wanted to. I wriggled through the rapidly gathering crowd, one of the few upsides to my small size, until I got a look at the scene in the middle of it all.

I was dismayed but not altogether surprised to see Sebastian and Alec facing each other.

Sebastian had his hands in his pockets, looking cool and unconcerned. Alec, however, was a much different story; his hands were curled into fists, his knees braced apart as if he were ready for a fight. His face was filled with fury, and he glared black hate at Sebastian, who didn't seem too interested in the boy standing across from him.

"Get the hell out of my life, Sebastian," Alec half-shouted. "What I do is none of your damn business."

"I'm trying to look out for you," said Sebastian icily. "It's what's best."

"Like you know what's best for me," Alec snarled.

"Alec?" Isabelle broke free of the crowd, her dark eyes wide with alarm. "What's going on?"

Alec didn't move from his aggressive stance. "You don't know anything about me," he said, breathing hard. He didn't seem to have noticed his sister's arrival. "But I know about you. I know exactly what kind of person you are, Sebastian. I know what you did."

Sebastian fixed cold black eyes on Alec. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Like hell you don't," Alec spat. "Leave him out of this. I know what you're trying to do, and I won't let you do it."

Sebastian refused to get excited. He blinked calmly and said, "Leave who out of what?"

With a growl of fury Alec lurched forward, swinging his fist at Sebastian's face. Sebastian ducked expertly and landed a solid punch to Alec's stomach, causing the other boy to double over, his face screwed up from the pain. Alec was upright in an instant, managing a hit in to Sebastian's chin that caused him to stagger back. A few students were whooping and cheering now, and the crowd of spectators was rapidly expanding. It was only a matter of time before a teacher noticed the commotion.

Isabelle lunged forward and wrapped her arms around Alec's waist, trying to pull him away from Sebastian. Alec flailed around, struggling out of her grasp, and in his efforts for escape his elbow cracked her in the nose. She released him at once with a small cry, her hands flying to her face as blood instantly started gushing.

Alec didn't seem to have noticed his mistake; he went at Sebastian again, who still seemed much too calm for what the situation dictated.

No one else gave Isabelle a second glance. I struggled through the crowd again until I reached her; she stood at the edge of the fight, white-faced and shocked. I took her arm and began leading her out of the smothering circle, elbowing people aside to get through.

Simon was hovering on the outer edge of the crowd. He saw me and instantly headed over.

"Clary, what's—" He broke off and clammed up when he saw Isabelle.

"I'll tell you about it later, Simon," I said breathlessly as I towed Isabelle toward the girl's bathroom. "Little busy right now."

The yells and cheers from the fight were muffled as the bathroom door swung shut behind us. Isabelle still had both hands covering her nose, though blood had started to seep through her fingers. I grabbed a handful of paper towels and offered them to her. She took them numbly and pressed them to her face.

I watched her dab at the blood for a moment before speaking. "Are you okay?" I asked quietly.

She sniffed and shook her head, keeping her head down so that her hair fell forward to hide her face.

"Alec didn't mean to do it," I said, wanting to step forward and comfort her, but unsure of how that would be received. "He was upset, and he was focused on the fight—"

"There's something wrong with him," she said, her voice thick from what could have been a swollen nose or tears or both. "He's never fought with anyone before. I've barely seen him talk to Sebastian before today; they've always avoided each other. All of a sudden he's been acting weird, and getting into fights, and he won't tell me what's wrong." She lowered the now-bloody paper towels and threw them viciously into the waste basket, glowering through the tears sparkling in her eyes.

I thought about what Magnus had said; he'd noticed Alec's strange behavior, too. Was he right about Alec being blackmailed? If that was the reason for the way he was acting, there was only one obvious candidate for his blackmailer.

I closed my eyes and blew a long breath out my nose. As much as I didn't want to believe it, I would be stupid to ignore the signs.

"I think Sebastian might be blackmailing Alec," I said, and Isabelle, who had taken another paper towel to hold to her nose, looked up at me in astonishment.

"What?" she said, her voice coming out nasally from her plugged nose. "Why would he do that?"

"I don't know," I said, deciding not to share my theory with her; I wasn't sure how much she knew about her brother and his lifestyle, but I wasn't about to test her knowledge.

She shook her head impatiently. "What makes you think that, then? Did someone say something to you?"

I hesitated, and then said slowly, "Magnus mentioned it."

Her eyebrows drew together. "Magnus Bane?"

"Yes." I watched her carefully for any sign of clarity to pass over her face, but either she was hiding her feelings well or she hadn't connected the dots yet.

"I don't know," she said in a hopeless voice, leaning against the row of sinks. "I don't know what's wrong with Alec. Maybe Sebastian is blackmailing him; that would explain why Alec attacked him."

I just nodded, trying to ignore the pain in my chest. I had trusted Sebastian; I'd believed that he was a good person who was only looking out for Jace. But what if he'd been blackmailing Alec all along? What if he was targeting Magnus just to get back at Alec for something?

"I feel so useless," said Isabelle miserably, running her thumb under her eyes. "I'm Alec's sister. I'm supposed to be there for him. I'm supposed to be able to help him. But I don't know what to do, if he won't even tell me what's wrong."

Hesitantly, I crossed the distance between us, and after a pause, I put my arms around her. It was an awkward embrace, and I expected her to push me away, but instead she leaned into me, putting her head on my shoulder and sniffling.

"There's just too much going on," Isabelle groaned. "First this disaster with Jace, and now Alec's acting weird. Can life get any harder?"

_You could be a police suspect, _I thought dryly. Out loud, I said, "Don't worry about it. Alec will come around eventually…and we'll find out who attacked Jace. I might even be on to something." It wasn't a complete lie, but unless I counted Sebastian's suspicions about Magnus, I didn't have much of a lead.

She was quiet after that, and I could tell she didn't believe me.

We stood like that for a while. I couldn't help feeling immensely uncomfortable, but I was happy to stand there and take it if it made her feel better. Isabelle and I had never been friends, but maybe that would change after today. She didn't seem like the shallow robot I'd always pegged her as; she seemed like a real person, someone I might even be able to relate to in some ways.

With a last sniff, Isabelle drew away, holding herself with upright dignity. She turned to the mirror and began to carefully dab away the last traces of blood on her face; her nose had stopped bleeding. Then she swiped her fingers beneath her eyes one last time, took a deep breath, and then turned back to me.

"Thank you, Clary," she said sincerely. "You're really too nice for your own good." She winked at me, as if she hadn't just been upset and tearful a moment ago, and then swept out of the bathroom.

With a little sigh, I followed her.

I almost stopped dead when I reentered the hall. Rather than coming upon the last remnants of the scene, it seemed to be worsening.

There were multiple teachers trying to fight through the now overwhelming tide of students who stood watching the drama unfold, shouting and waving their arms but ultimately doing no good. Sebastian had Alec in a headlock. Both of them had bloodied faces, and I could see Sebastian's lips moving next to Alec's ear, his eyes black and burning. Alec, teeth bared, was trying to wrench out of Sebastian's grasp, but it seemed to be proving more difficult than he'd hoped.

I couldn't help scanning the crowd for a familiar golden head, but I should have known after seeing the state Jace was in yesterday that he wouldn't be at school today. Still, I couldn't help feeling frustrated. He would have been able to stop this. He had enough sway over both Sebastian and Alec to make them break up the fight. The principal had just arrived on the scene, cutting a path through the spectators toward the wrestling boys, his face purple with fury.

Simon slipped up to my side, watching the mess with a dismayed look. "I've never seen a fight this bad," he said, having to raise his voice to be heard over the noise.

I just nodded, staring. Students were finally beginning to disperse under the threats of the teachers and the arrival of the principal. They slunk reluctantly toward their classes, glancing constantly over their shoulders to get one last look at the action. The principal had reached Sebastian and Alec, and with the help of a few other teachers, he dragged them apart. Sebastian straightened and shrugged off the hands of Mr. Tasker, his expression stony but still absurdly calm. Alec, on the other hand, fought against the restraining arms of the principal and Mr. Doyle, his eyes fixed furiously on Sebastian.

I glanced around, looking for Isabelle, but she had disappeared. I wouldn't blame her for being upset with Alec for accidentally hitting her, but I was a little surprised she hadn't stuck around to see what would happen to her brother. However, I did see Magnus, hovering not far away with a tense look on his face.

As if he'd sensed me looking, Magnus glanced in my direction, and our eyes met. The look on his face said, _I hope you've figured out what's going on by now. _I nodded slightly to show him that I had, but he only looked away, back toward the fight. His eyes were glued on Alec, and I could see his fingers flexing at his sides, as if he wished he could run in and help. But there was nothing he could do.

The last of the fight ended, and Alec and Sebastian were led to the principal's office like prisoners to the electric chair. Their audience wandered off, still murmuring excitedly to one another. I didn't find anything very exciting about the situation.

"Jeez, I didn't know Lightwood had it in him," said Simon, shaking his head in wonder. "In fact, I was under the impression he'd been born without the ability to speak."

I didn't say anything. My stomach was in worried knots. I stared at the back of Sebastian's snowy head as he strode down the hall. Was he really blackmailing Alec and using me to make things worse for him? Was that why Alec had warned me to stay away?

It wasn't like I was the one Sebastian had directly wronged. He'd been nothing but nice to me lately; he said he wanted to help clear my name. But I couldn't help feeling distinctly like I'd been betrayed.

* * *

_A few people have hinted that the culprit of Jace's attack seems obvious, and I hope you aren't finding the story boring! I don't want to give anything away, but I'll say this: Things aren't always what they seem... *cue ominous music*_

_Thanks so much for reading and reviewing! _


	29. Chapter 29

In history, I caught myself daydreaming about Jace. Now _that _was something I'd never expected to be doing. I felt my face grow hot even though no one could possibly know what I was thinking. However, _I _knew, and that was enough of a humiliation. Worst of all, it had starred him looking much like he had when I'd visited him at his house, shirtless and smirking, yet with an underlying gentleness that came out only at select moments. Except in my daydream, he'd looked a lot less pale and in pain.

I was approaching dangerous territory here. I needed to be more careful. Daydreaming might seem harmless enough, but I couldn't let myself stray to that place. Suddenly Isabelle's warning about being cautious around Jace didn't sound too ridiculous anymore.

Simon and I were walking past the principal's office on our way to the cafeteria when Sebastian and Alec emerged. The door swung open and they were standing there, getting a few last choice words from the principal before they were excused. He was glowering at the both of them, and I knew they'd be on his bad side until the day they graduated.

They exited the office and immediately turned to go in opposite directions. Alec stormed off, looking no less angry than he had during the fight. Sebastian, however, looked right at me and began walking purposefully toward me.

"Oh, lovely," Simon muttered. "You want me to chase him off?"

"That's all right," I said, even though a part of me wouldn't have minded that, even though Simon would hardly be able to intimidate someone like Sebastian. "I should probably talk to him."

"Are you crazy?" Simon hissed. "He's a maniac, Clary! Or did you doze off during the huge fistfight he was in this morning?"

"I didn't forget," I snapped. "But I think I should give him the chance to explain himself."

Simon shook his head. "He doesn't need to be explaining himself to you. You had nothing to do with that fight." He stopped and gave me a look. "Did you?"

"No," I said swiftly. "I didn't. But he knows that I won't be happy about it, and he might want to…" I trailed off as Simon continued to scowl, unconvinced.

"I'll be fine," I insisted, giving his arm a small shove. "I'll catch up with you in the lunchroom, okay?"

Still looking extremely reluctant, Simon agreed, heading toward the cafeteria, but not without shooting a venomous look at Sebastian over his shoulder.

Sebastian paid Simon no attention. He looked only at me as he said, "Can we talk?"

"I suppose," I said coolly, folding my arms and trying to look disapproving. Sebastian nodded and started walking, assuming I'd follow. Trying to swallow my irritation and nerves, I followed him.

Predictably, we ended up in the courtyard. He didn't have to clear out the space beforehand; the second he walked into the open, everyone took one look at him and left quickly. They'd always been jumpy around Sebastian, but after today, they were downright frightened. I couldn't blame them; he looked a real sight.

He had a steadily darkening black eye, some nasty looking spots where Alec's knuckles had broken the skin, and a cut lip. He didn't show any sign that he was in pain, or that he noticed the injuries at all. He sat fluidly down on our usual bench, crossing one ankle over his other knee and looking expectantly up at me.

I didn't sit down. I crossed my arms again and said bluntly, "You lied to me."

He blinked. "I don't know what you're talking about."

The fact that he'd said that very same thing to Alec this morning didn't improve my temper. "You're blackmailing Alec, aren't you?" I snapped. "About Magnus. That's why you told me you think he's the one that hurt Jace."

Sebastian sighed, as if I was a difficult child and he wasn't in the mood to deal with my silliness. "So Bane caught on," he murmured to himself, seemingly oblivious that he was just digging himself an even deeper grave. "I thought he might, eventually."

"Why are you doing it?" I cried, my frustration boiling over. "Why would you do that to him? Is it because you're against their choices? It's not any of your business! Alec was right. You need to butt out of his life. Who cares who they decide to be with?"

"It's not about their lifestyle," said Sebastian, his voice dropping several degrees. "Alec has been annoyingly nosy, and he learned things he didn't want to know. No one else would want to know them, either. So for the sake of everyone, I'm making sure he keeps his mouth shut."

"That's despicable," I hissed. "You're threatening to reveal his relationship with Magnus just to keep your precious secrets from getting out? Do you even care about who hurt Jace, or was that all just an act to try to frame Magnus, too?"

"Of course I care," said Sebastian sharply. "That has nothing to do with my…problems with Alec. I do believe that Magnus had something to do with what happened."

"I asked Jace about it, and he said he had no memory of seeing Magnus that night," I said coldly. "He laughed when I mentioned it. And if he can dismiss Magnus, then I think we can, too."

Sebastian rose slowly from the bench. "When did you talk to Jace?" he asked calmly.

I bit my lip, feeling like I'd said too much. What did it matter, though? It wasn't like Sebastian would be angry…right? "I went to see him yesterday," I said defiantly. "To return his coat."

Sebastian's mouth twisted into a small smile. "Ah, Clary," he sighed, in a way that could almost be described as fond. "You're always so stubborn. I told you I could give him the coat."

"I didn't trust you with it," I said stiffly.

His smile grew a little. "If I didn't know better, I would think you're trying to make me feel guilty," he said, and then grew serious again. "You wanted to see if Jace was all right."

"I just wanted to return the coat," I growled. "Why doesn't anyone believe me when I say that?"

"Because it's unlikely," he answered. His black eyes flashed at me. "Do you like him?"

"I—that's—why would—" I stammered, unable to form a sentence that would describe my revulsion at the idea.

Sebastian stepped closer. "I've always hated the way Jace treats you," he murmured. "You deserve much more than that. He's very capable of turning his charm off and on whenever he wants to, Clary. Don't let yourself be fooled by him."

I bristled. "Aren't you the one who told me to 'seduce' him?" I said icily. "Which, by the way, didn't work out so well."

"Just be careful." He took yet another step forward, and I was suddenly aware of the small amount of space between us. "Jace prides himself on his ability to charm his way through life. How else do you think he got taken in to the wealthy Lightwood family? Or stopped the doctors from telling his parents he was intoxicated the night of the attack?"

"Stop," I said, my voice coming out a little breathless. I wasn't sure what I was talking about—stop closing the distance between us? Stop telling me things I didn't want to hear? Stop making me doubt everything I thought I'd learned about Jace?

"Stop what?" he murmured, his face now inches from mine. I could see the bruises on his face clearly, and somehow they didn't manage to mar his looks. He was still good-looking, with his striking, contrasting hair, his intense eyes, the liquid sound of his low voice.

And yet I'd never been less attracted to someone in my life. Picturing him doing such terrible things to Alec and Magnus made me angry. More than angry—furious. And the look in his eyes when he'd been fighting Alec…

"Has anyone ever told you how beautiful you are?" he whispered, completely derailing my disgusted thoughts. No one had ever told me that I was beautiful, aside from my mom and Luke. No boy had ever looked at me the way Sebastian was looking at me now.

My anger was unraveling in the face of his admiration. I tried to cling to it, but it was useless. I was left standing alone and exposed, with Sebastian's hands coming up to brush my arms. My heart was bouncing erratically around my chest, but not out of excitement.

If he did what I thought he was about to do, it would be my first time. My first kiss. And even though I wasn't sure I'd get another opportunity like this, whether another boy would ever like me the way Sebastian did, I realized that I didn't want him to be my first. Not someone that could blackmail another person without guilt, who could beat him up without remorse, who could try to frame someone out of spite.

I stepped back, letting Sebastian's hands fall from my arms. His eyes burned as they looked at me, and it made me shiver, though I wasn't sure if it was a good or bad shiver.

"I'm sorry," I said, my voice coming out much more strongly than I'd expected it to. "I can't do this right now."

I turned and left the courtyard, feeling his intense stare fixed on me until I was out of sight.

* * *

By the time I got home, I was exhausted. My head ached with the amount of thoughts crammed into it. Jace, Alec, Magnus, Sebastian, all of them turning circles in my mind. Trying to shut my brain up didn't work. I was overloaded with everything, with fears and questions and confusion.

After a long—and strangely, dully uneventful—shift at the diner, I barely had the energy to make it to my bed. And even though my body felt wiped, my head kept on sprinting, refusing to give me even a second of reprieve.

I automatically reached for my sketchbook. I hadn't been able to draw anything in weeks; I hadn't felt the blissful release of drawing all my problems away. It was infuriating, and I could only hope my artist's block wouldn't last forever.

I fiddled with my pencil, which had been worn down to a stub, and stared at the glaringly blank page of the sketchpad. The tip of my pencil found the surface of the paper, resting there, waiting for its next order.

My mind was off again, wandering out of my room, out of the apartment, trailing after every problem invading my life. Did the police still suspect me? They hadn't contacted me in a while, but did that mean anything? Was Alec okay after today's fight? What had Sebastian done that made him think he had to blackmail Alec to keep him quiet? Did Sebastian like me, or was that just another of his lies? Was Jace all right? Was he feeling better? Would he be back at school soon—?

I realized belatedly that my pencil had started moving across the paper. I'd absentmindedly begun to draw, and the instant feeling of relief was glorious. It wasn't until I focused on the sketch that the relief was replaced with mortification.

It was Jace, bare-chested just as he'd been yesterday in his room. I'd begun to draw large, swooping wings arching out of his back, as if he were some kind of angel. His hair was carefully disheveled, just like the live model, and even his stance, the confident slope of his shoulders, resembled Jace.

My artist's block was over. And the cause had been Jace Wayland.

I slammed my sketchpad shut and practically threw it across the room. I wouldn't be able to go near that thing until I'd gotten my imagination in check.

* * *

My mom came home about an hour later. I'd been sitting in the living room, staring blankly at a book without taking a word of it in, when the door opened and she walked inside. She looked exhausted; her hair had been pulled haphazardly back into a sloppy ponytail, and her every movement seemed slow and heavy.

"Hi, Mom," I said, closing the book and putting it aside. I'd seen her just an hour ago, harried and irritated as always, but she hadn't looked so worn out then. What could have happened between the time I'd left the diner and now? "Is everything okay?"

"Everything's fine," she said, and the false brightness in her voice was painfully obvious. Her face fell and she sighed, reaching back to rub her neck as if it hurt her. "No, it's not," she murmured. "I got another little visit from the police tonight."

I shot to my feet, staring at her wide-eyed. "They came to the diner again?"

She nodded after a beat of hesitation.

I swallowed the obstruction in my throat. "Were they looking for me?"

"I think they would have liked to speak with you," she said, nodding slowly. "But when I told them you weren't in, they settled for me instead."

I hesitantly crossed the distance between us and took her hand. We hadn't spoken much since she'd told me the story of my father; the contact felt a little strange, but she squeezed my hand gratefully. "Were they rude?" I asked, thinking of Mole Cop.

"They were fine," she said, scowling a little. "Perfectly polite. But I knew exactly why they were there, so it didn't matter how they acted."

"What did they say?" I asked, my voice sounding a little choked.

"They asked to see the place where you found Jace. Again. As if they haven't seen it a hundred times already," she scoffed, but beneath her bravado I could see her fear. "They asked a few questions, much of the same as usual, and then they said they'd stop by some time when you were working."

I kneaded my forehead with my fingers, my stress level ratcheting up a good several notches. After everything already going on, I didn't need the cops continuing to keep their hawk eyes on me. How long until they decided they should lock me behind bars? How long until I ran completely out of time?

"Oh, Clary," my mom said, and I was startled to see tears in her eyes. She drew me against her, wrapping her arms around my waist, and I hugged her back. We stood like that awhile, comforting one another, just like old times. It reminded me of when we'd lived in Colorado, when times were so much simpler than they were now. I couldn't help wondering, if we had just stayed there, what would life be like now? What if I'd never come to New York?

But if I hadn't, I never would have met Simon, my best friend. I wouldn't get to see Luke so much. And my mom was living out her childhood dream here, living in a big city and owning a quaint little diner.

And I wouldn't have met Jace.

The thought popped into my head unexpectedly. I almost physically flinched away from it. Where had that come from? Surely Jace was one of the top reasons I should _want _to stay away from New York.

"Clary," my mom whispered again. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I didn't tell you sooner."

I knew she wasn't talking about the visit from the police tonight. This was about my father; I could hear it in the sorrow in her voice.

"It's okay," I said, and I meant it. "I…I know why you did it. I understand, Mom."

We stood like that for a moment longer, and then she pulled away, blinking rapidly to dispel the tears that had gathered in her eyes. It seemed like I was doing a lot of comforting today. I smiled gently at her, reaching out and brushing her arm with my fingers. And just like that, the dark cloud that had been hovering between us for days disappeared.

* * *

Later that evening, I was startled when my cell phone rang, the screen displaying an unfamiliar number. I was wary of prank calls; I'd gotten my fair share. But curiosity got the better of me, and I answered with a cautious, "Hello?"

"I need to tell you something." The voice that came over the phone was deep and breathless with excitement. I shouldn't have recognized it; I shouldn't have felt a little jolt of anticipation at the sound of it. But instantly, when I heard the first word out of his mouth, I knew it was Jace. That troubled me. Why should I be able to identify his voice as easily as I would Simon's?

"Who is this?" I stammered, refusing to admit I'd recognized him.

"It's Jace. Who else would it be?" he said impatiently, as if he called to chitchat every night. "Can you meet me?"

"I…okay," I said weakly, the words popping out without my permission. "What do you want to tell me?"

"I remembered something else."

I sat bolt upright on my bed, clutching the phone tighter in my sweaty palm. "What?"

"I can't tell you over the phone. Can you come over?"

I bit my lip, trying to fight against the feeling that was rising inside of me, the feeling that told me I _really _wanted to go to his house again. But the idea of walking through that cathedral with Isabelle and Alec at home, imagining what they might think of me, filled me with reluctance.

"Maybe we should meet at the park," I hedged. "By the gazebo." Immediately, I wanted to take the words back. Going to that gazebo again would bring back memories of that bizarre, rainy afternoon we'd spent together. I didn't want to have "a place" with him. I didn't want to encourage whatever was happening between us.

Of course I didn't. Why would I want to do something like that?

"It's kind of late," he said, but a moment later he added, "I'll be there in a half hour."

He hung up without saying goodbye. I stared at the phone in my hand, battling against the feelings rattling inside of me. Feelings that most certainly didn't belong there.

Despite my nerves, I practically threw myself in front of a taxi after leaving my apartment. The whole ride to the park, I was bouncing my legs with nervousness, my fingers wrapped together tightly in my lap. I stared out the window at the lights of New York City without really seeing them.

My excitement was totally inexcusable. Why wasn't I more reluctant to do this? Why wasn't I dreading seeing Jace's face, the way I had every single day for years? For all I knew, this could be an elaborate trick, some new way to humiliate me. As the thought darkened my head, my anxiety only increased.

By the time we reached Central Park, I had worked myself into a state where I was seriously considering turning around and heading home. What would Jace do if I never showed up? Would he be offended? Disappointed? Indifferent?

My jittery energy moved my feet forward, one in front of the other. I'd always liked Central Park at night; but then, I'd never come here alone before. I was always with my mom, Simon, or Luke; in fact, if any of them knew I was here now, they'd probably bust a vein. The sun had not yet completely set, so I was hoping I would be in and out before nightfall. But if this meeting with Jace took too long, it might be pretty dark by the time I started for home again.

Maybe I hadn't thought this through.

I knew Central Park better than I knew anywhere else in New York. Even in the relative darkness, I was fairly sure I knew exactly where the gazebo was. I stuck to the paths, staring straight ahead and sternly telling myself that the shadows on either side of me were most certainly not moving, or concealing boogey men, or high schoolers intent on ruining my life.

I wasn't far from the gazebo when one of the shadows detached itself from the rest and stepped in front of me, breathing slightly labored, as if the person had been running.

I stopped and stood frozen in the middle of the path, staring. I couldn't decide whether I should scream my lungs out or if I should just turn and run. But what if it was Jace? I'd look like an idiot if I freaked out over seeing him.

But as the figure stepped closer and my muddled brain focused on him, it became quite clear that it wasn't Jace.

This man was still young, late teens or early twenties, I'd guess. He was tall and slender, with a swarthy complexion and dark hair. His shirt was open at the collar, and he stood with a sort of slouched confidence, his hands shoved into his pockets.

I was busy trying to decide whether or not he looked capable of mugging me when he spoke.

"Are you Clary?" He had a distinct Spanish accent, with a smooth, almost hypnotic voice. His eyes, buried in shadows, seemed to watch me closely, at odds with his relaxed stance.

My blood turned cold in my veins. I tried to tell myself that this was a good sign; if he knew me, why would he want to hurt me? But that was a pathetic reassurance. I had the good sense of mind not to immediately blurt out that I was indeed Clary; instead, I said as challengingly as I could, "Who wants to know?"

He smiled, a flash of white teeth in the fading light. "How rude of me not to introduce myself," he said smoothly. "My name is Raphael Santiago."

I took a step back. "I'm sorry, I don't know you."

"I was sent here to find you," he answered. His dark eyes never left my face. I felt unnerved. "At least, I was sent here to find a lovely little redhead named Clary Fray. You seem to fit the description, now all I need is a confirmation." He looked expectantly at me.

"Who sent you?" I demanded. I cast a look around, hoping for other people passing by that I could call out to for help if need be. There was no one near enough to stop him if he were to, say, pull a knife on me.

He smiled again. The smile didn't touch his eyes. "I'm afraid I can't disclose that," he said apologetically, and all hope that Jace had sent him to find me evaporated.

"You see, my—ah, employer—has noticed that you seem to have taken a particular interest in the accident involving Jace Wayland that occurred on the night of October the twelfth," Raphael said, removing one hand from his pocket to inspect it nonchalantly.

I swallowed hard. "It wasn't an accident."

"You see, that's the kind of talk that gets you into situations like this," Raphael said with a theatrical sigh. "If I were you, I'd learn how to keep your mouth shut and your nose out of other people's business."

I was finding it difficult to breathe. Someone had sent Raphael here to tell me to stop trying to find out who had attacked Jace. Did that mean I was close? That whoever was behind it was worried that I would uncover what they'd done? Or maybe they just didn't want to take any risks.

It didn't matter the reason. At least, not right now. The only thing that mattered now was the fact that I was alone in Central Park, facing a strange man with a dangerous smile who looked more than capable of seriously hurting me.

Or worse.

"How did you know I was here?" My voice cracked, and I clenched my jaw, frustrated with the weakness I was showing. This was not the time to lose it. I had to keep my head. I had to find a way out of this.

A terrible thought occurred to me. What if this was Jace's doing? What if he had lured me to the park, only to send Raphael to meet me? This was far worse than any humiliation he could have come up with.

A second later, I realized how silly a notion that was. I had been the one to suggest coming to the park; Jace was the victim here, and he wouldn't threaten me to keep me out of his business. And most importantly, I knew he wouldn't do this to me; not now, not after the things we'd both been through.

So who'd sent him?

Raphael appraised me for another moment, and then he reached out, quick as a snake, and grabbed my wrist. I opened my mouth to scream, but he leaned close and put a finger to his lips, his eyes glittering.

"I wouldn't," he murmured. He lowered his hand, slowly, to shift his jacket enough to show the object hidden inside.

A gun.

Even if I had wanted to scream now, I wouldn't have been able to. My voice deserted me.

"Let's move into the trees, out of the open," he suggested, and pulled me off the path. I walked mechanically, too afraid of the weapon under his jacket to struggle. I cast one last desperate look over my shoulder, but for the moment the path was empty. No one to see me. No one to help me.

I was on my own.

Raphael stopped beneath the trees. It was darker under here, the mostly bare branches blocking out the remainder of the light from the sky. He didn't release my wrist; his fingers bit into my skin, his eyes boring into mine.

"I followed you here," he told me calmly. "I waited outside your apartment. I have been for the past few evenings, actually. But you turned out to be more of a shut-in than I'd anticipated." He chuckled while I stared at him in ever growing horror. He'd been watching my home? What kind of a sick person was this?

"What do you want?" To my frustration, my voice came out hoarse, still reluctant to be used.

"I want to make something very clear." He took a step back and let my hand fall limply from his. The lightness to his demeanor had disappeared; his dark eyes were hard as rock now, pinning me to the spot. "Stop looking. This has nothing to do with you. The fact that you saved Wayland's life doesn't mean you are involved in any of this; you were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Stay out of it, and nothing will happen to you."

My heart was pounding in my chest, doing its best to hurl itself out of my body. I could barely hear over the roaring in my ears. And yet, I didn't bow my head and meekly back away as I should have. Oh, no. My temper had to start boiling. My hands tightened into fists and my eyes narrowed at him.

"And if I don't?" I said coldly. "Are you going to shoot me?"

"Let's just say," he said, "that it would be very unwise of you."

"This does involve me," I snapped. "You can tell your _employer _that he can shove his warning up his—"

Raphael moved fast. Too fast for my mind to follow. One moment he was standing across from me, his arms folded menacingly over his chest, and the next he was behind me, his fingers curling themselves in my hair and forcing my head back. I was too shocked to do anything more than gasp; the pain in my scalp brought tears to my eyes.

His breath was on my ear. "Are you sure you want to go down this road?"

I spoke through gritted teeth, though my attempt at bravado must not have impressed him. I was, after all, starting to shake all over, my breathing uneven and fast. "What does it matter? I'm not going to find anything."

"My employer doesn't seem to agree with that sentiment," he said, pulling my head back even farther.

"Let go," I hissed, and threw my elbow back. It hit his stomach hard, and his grip on my hair loosened as he instinctively doubled over. I twisted out of his grip and started running.

Fear lent me energy. I ran faster than I ever had in my life. My breath was just wheezing rasps in my throat; I tried to build up the strength to scream, but it wouldn't come. My airways felt closed with panic.

And then it hit me—I had a phone in my pocket. As I ran, I fumbled for it, frantically going through my history and hitting Jace's number.

He picked up on the first ring. "Clary? Where are you? I've been waiting for—"

"Jace," I said, my voice a high squeak of panic, "I'm here, but someone sent—"

That was all I had time to say. Strong arms wrapped around my waist from behind. I shrieked as I was lifted right up into the air, kicking violently in a vain attempt to free myself. My phone flew out of my hand, and I didn't see where it landed.

"I hate when they make it difficult," sighed Raphael, not sounding the least bit out of breath. He gave a mighty heave and tossed me to the ground. There was a sharp sting in my shoulder as it scraped against the ground. I rolled to my feet, already backing away, eyes wheeling back and forth in search of an escape.

He closed the distance between us in an impossible amount of time. I only had enough time to scramble a few steps before he had me again, his arms wrapping around my shoulders and pinning my arms to my sides. He slammed us both against the nearest tree, hard enough to make my head whip painfully, causing me to bite my tongue.

"Do you need me to _warn _you some more, or have you finally gotten the message?" he said, and there was dark laughter in his voice.

And then his arms disappeared from around me, so suddenly that I staggered to my knees, catching myself clumsily with my hands. I looked up in time to see Raphael take a hard, fast punch right to the jaw. His head jerked back and he stumbled, his hands going up automatically to hold the injury. The newcomer didn't give him time to recover; he drove his fist into Raphael's stomach, and I heard the audible whoosh as the air was knocked out of him.

Raphael ended up on the ground; he spat out blood and glared up at the figure standing over him.

"Are you finished beating up defenseless women?" Jace said, his voice dripping dangerous calm. "Or should I get you some small children to prey on?"

Raphael swore at him in Spanish, and the hatred on his face was like physical fire leaping out at his opponent.

"Get out of here, Raphael," Jace growled. "Or nothing will stop me from calling the cops, I swear."

For a moment I was certain Raphael was going to throw himself at Jace in a fury, but instead he staggered upright, spat at Jace's feet, and jogged away without looking back.

I was still on my knees, staring blankly at the spot where Raphael had just disappeared. My brain had shut off at some point; I felt numb, disconnected. It took me several long seconds to realize that Jace was saying my name.

I turned my head and was distantly startled to see that he was right beside me, kneeling on the ground next to me. He looked sort of out of focus, blurry around the edges. His golden eyes were dark and distressed; I felt pressure on my shoulders. His hands? I wasn't sure.

His voice came to me, muffled. "Clary? Are you all right? Clary?"

I wanted to answer, but it seemed like a lot of effort. Even blinking seemed to take too much energy.

He swore quietly and I felt him brush his fingers lightly against my upper arm. "You're bleeding," his faraway voice said. "And you may also be in shock. You probably aren't even listening to me right now, are you? I could say anything and you wouldn't know any better. I have a job as a pole dancer at a strip club, and my stage name is Sexy Starla. Nothing?"

_He's rambling, _some very small part of my mind remarked. _That's kind of cute. _

There was stronger pressure on my arms as he hauled me to my feet. He tugged on me gently, saying something like, "Come on," but I suddenly wasn't sure where my feet had wandered off to. I was distantly aware that my entire body was shaking, though I didn't feel very cold.

His exasperated voice sounded in my ear. "Come on, Clary. Are you really going to make me carry you? All right, if you insist."

There was a part of me that wanted to yell _NO! _and fight him tooth and nail, but the rest of me refused to accommodate that urge. I felt his hands beneath my knees, and then I was in the air. Then we were moving, quickly and quietly, through the park. He didn't say anything, and the warmth of his body did little to stop the shivering wracking my body. But his hands made me feel safe, and I could feel his heartbeat, steady and constant and comforting.

After a while, the rhythm of his walk lulled me, and I concentrated on his heartbeat until there seemed to be nothing else in the world.

* * *

_A little action in this chapter, eh? Who do you think sent Raphael after Clary? _

_Thanks so much for reading and reviewing, everyone! _


	30. Chapter 30

_To celebrate the 30th chapter, here's an extra long one! _

* * *

I wasn't sure if I fell asleep or if I simply resurfaced from some distant place I'd retreated to in my head. All I knew was that I became aware of being indoors, and as I slowly took in my surroundings, I recognized exactly where I was.

Jace's bedroom.

I sat upright and my head spun. Another look around showed me that I was lying in his bed. _In his bed. _This was one place I would have guessed I would never be, not in my entire life.

"Look who's up," a familiar voice said, and I turned my head to see Jace standing in the doorway, leaning casually against the door frame. When our eyes met, he smirked. There was something behind the smirk, though—a burning, restless intensity that gave me the urge to look away.

"Why am I here?" My voice rasped in my throat.

"I assume you haven't already forgotten what happened in the park tonight." He shrugged off of the threshold and entered the room, collapsing into a small armchair in the corner.

My mind helpfully replayed everything that had happened, from Raphael's lethal smile to his fingers embedded painfully in my hair to Jace stepping in, and my panic flooded back full force.

I scrambled off the bed, my heart rate speeding up. "Who was that guy?" I cried. My hands shook and I squeezed them into fists, willing them to be steady. "He knew my name. He was watching my apartment. He had a _gun. _And why the hell would you go up and punch him like that?" I shouted, choosing to channel my fear into anger instead. "He was armed, Jace! What if he'd shot you? Do you really need a replay of the other night?"

Jace stood slowly, his hands out, as if he was approaching a crazed wild animal. "Clary," he said cautiously. "Calm down. Okay? Can you do that for me?"

I was quivering all over now, and felt quite incapable of calming down. "What if you'd gotten killed?"

"I know Raphael. I'm willing to bet my college fund that that gun wasn't even loaded. He was sent to scare you, not to kill you." There was tight rage in his voice, not directed at me, but at whoever Raphael's "employer" was.

"Wait." I stared at him, my mouth hanging open. "You _know _Raphael?"

Jace lifted his eyes to the ceiling and blew out a breath. "We aren't friends," he said, and there was an edge in his voice that I couldn't figure out. "Far from it, actually. But we've run into each other a few times. The circumstances weren't exactly friendly."

My eyes bored holes into him, but he didn't seem inclined to elaborate.

"Fine," I said, clearing my throat in an effort to regain an inch of control. "Don't tell me how you know him. But do you know who might have sent him?"

I saw a muscle in his jaw tense, and he stared fixedly at the wall, avoiding my gaze.

"Jace." I stepped closer to him and his gold eyes automatically flickered to my face. "If you know…don't protect anyone. This isn't even the time to protect yourself. If you know who might have sent Raphael…you have to tell me."

He ran his hands through his hair, frustration radiating off him in waves. "I don't know," he snapped. "It's killing me, but I don't know. Raphael works for anyone and everyone. There's no telling who hired him. But it has to be someone who knows about you." Jace's serious eyes met mine, and I felt the blood drain out of my face.

"So it was someone we both know?" I said tonelessly.

He shook his head. "Not necessarily. But it's someone who's taken the time to keep tabs on my life and notice that you're in it."

Why now, of all times, did his words have to give me butterflies? I knew I was in his life. That didn't mean it was a positive thing.

The energy was trickling out of my veins. I sat down on the edge of his bed as the numb feeling started to creep back in. "I can't believe that happened," I whispered. "I can't believe someone actually came after me."

Jace started to move toward me, then stopped himself. When I looked up at him, there was regret and anger battling each other in his eyes; his hands were fists at his sides. "Clary," he finally said. "You have to tell me the truth."

"What are you talking about?"

"You have to tell me why you care. You have to tell me why you've been searching for the guy that did…this." He gestured to his middle, to the wound that was hidden by his shirt and coat. The absurd urge to ask him if he was feeling all right welled up inside me; this wasn't really the time for that.

"I was there, remember?" I couldn't look at him. "I was the one that called the ambulance. I'm not…I mean, I think I should have the right to be interested in who was responsible."

"That's a load of crap, and we both know it."

My head jerked up and I stared at him in shock. "What?"

He stood glaring at me, looming imposingly over me. "You heard me. You're lying," he said. "Why are you doing this, Clary? You're putting yourself in danger, and I won't let you do it anymore without a damn good reason."

I clenched my jaw and glared back at him. "You don't get to 'let' me do anything," I snapped back. "No matter what you say, I'll keep doing whatever I want."

"And by that, you mean you're going to keep searching for the person who attacked me," Jace said flatly.

I just folded my arms and stuck my chin out, wordlessly confirming what he said.

Jace crouched down suddenly so that our faces were level. I automatically leaned back, startled by his close proximity. The look on his face was strange. The fire in his eyes stirred up some of the adrenaline that had been pumping through my body not too long ago.

"Clary." His voice was intense, his eyes even more so. "If Raphael had gotten too carried away tonight, you might have been seriously hurt. Or worse. And there's no telling whether or not he'll come after you again, or whether someone else will, someone much more dangerous. Either tell me the truth about what's going on, or stay out of it."

I couldn't help feeling offended. Who was he to tell me what my options were? This was my life we were dealing with, not his!

But then, I thought as I stared at him, that wasn't true. This was his life. He was the one who was being hunted, really; he was the one that was in the most danger out of the two of us. And, as much as I didn't want to admit it, he deserved to know the truth.

I closed my eyes and took a long, steadying breath that did nothing to soothe my nerves. "I'm a suspect," I said, so quietly I wasn't sure he heard. I hoped he hadn't.

"A suspect?" He sounded completely confused. "For what?"

"For your attack. The police…well, I'm the only one that was on the scene that night, that they know of. I think they know it could easily have been some mugger on the street, but they aren't discounting me. After all, I was covered in your blood, and I showed more 'violent tendencies' when I slugged Aline." I laughed humorlessly. "In hindsight, that wasn't such a smart move."

There was a long, agonizing stretch of silence. Keeping my eyes closed didn't stop me from feeling the tension in the room, from fearing the worst when he finally said something. Now was the time for me to find out whether or not I'd been right to keep this from him for so long.

Jace didn't burst into laughter like Simon had when I'd told him. All he ended up saying was, "Huh."

My eyes flew open and I fixed him with an acidic glare. "That's all you can come up with? 'Huh'? You do realize I could go to jail for this, don't you?"

"Well, I have to say," he said, rubbing the back of his neck, "out of everything that's happened, that makes the least sense. I mean, come on. Do they really think so little of me?" he said scornfully. "They don't even think I could take _you _in a fight? Ouch. I always knew the police force was tough, but I never knew they could be this cruel."

"Jace!" I wanted to slap some sense into him. "Take this seriously! What if they don't find any other suspects, and they end up hauling me to a jail cell?"

"I won't let that happen," said Jace, with such calm confidence that my indignation quickly withered up. I looked at him doubtfully.

"So…you don't think it could have been me?" I asked. "You aren't afraid that you're sitting alone in the room with your real attacker?"

Jace broke into a grin, albeit a slightly dark one. "That's one of the most ridiculous things I've heard in my entire life, and I've lived with Isabelle for seven years."

Now, I should have been relieved at this. Jace wasn't going to tell the cops that I'd had a hand in his injury; he didn't think for a second that I was capable of doing something like that to him. But instead of being relieved, I was a little miffed. Why shouldn't he believe that I was strong enough to pull a stunt like that?

"I could do it," I said stiffly. "If I wanted."

To my annoyance, his grin widened. "You think you could stab me?"

"If I had half a mind," I sniffed.

"Go ahead." He spread his arms wide, smirking, displaying his upper torso area. "I'm sure Izzy's got hundreds of sharp things hidden under her bed. Go nab one and take a shot at me."

"Jace," I said, shocked. "That's not funny."

"You're right." He lowered his arms. "The fact that you're too cowardly to defend yourself is no laughing matter."

"Excuse me?" I said, more offended than ever. "I'm not cowardly! And I don't need to defend myself from _you._"

"Oh, you don't think so?" In a heartbeat, Jace's smile had turned from amused to feral. He jumped forward, one arm wrapping around my middle as he flew past me onto the bed, taking me with him. I let out a little shriek of surprise, taken totally off guard. I found myself lying on my back on his bed, with him poised above me, his hair hanging around his face.

Jace held himself above me with his hands braced on either side of me. I was positive he would be able to hear the thundering of my heart, which was so loud I hardly heard what he said next.

"Still think you don't need to defend yourself from me?" he whispered, his eyes glittering playfully. I wanted to come up with a witty retort, but my tongue had twisted itself so efficiently that I couldn't dream of uttering a single syllable. I could only stare up at him, wide-eyed.

He laughed, a pleased sound. "You look like you think I'm really about to kill you."

"Can you get off?" My voice squeaked humiliatingly.

His smile widened and he sank a half inch lower. I had forgotten how to breathe. His smell wreathed around me, smothering my senses. I felt like my brain cells were slowly committing suicide, leaving me lost and alone in a situation I never would have thought I'd find myself in.

"Does this make you uncomfortable?" he murmured, echoing his words from the other day, the last time I'd been here. I could feel his breath brushing against my face with each exhale, and heat seemed to burn off of his body, scorching me. Needless to say, I'd never been so close to a boy before; it was a completely overwhelming sensation.

I could only blink and try to remember how to swallow.

He shifted his hand closer to my arm, and an involuntary yelp of pain escaped me as a sharp sting responded to his touch.

Jace rolled away and sat up immediately, as if I had screamed. "What hurts?" he demanded.

"My arm…" I rolled up my sleeve and then sat staring. My arm was neatly wrapped in a clean white bandage. I looked up at Jace, speechless.

He shrugged, but there was a tiny touch of color in his cheeks. "You scraped your arm when you fell," he said, his voice suddenly remote. "I didn't want it to get infected or anything."

I looked quickly down at my arm to hide anything in my face that might give away how touched I was.

"So do you want to hear what I remembered or not?" He slid off the bed and returned to his armchair, slumping down into it and fixing me with a penetrating look.

I was still trying to control myself from what had just happened. How could Jace act so casual when he'd just practically lunged at me and pinned me to his bed? Maybe he was so used to throwing girls around that it didn't even affect him anymore. I tried not to feel resentful of that.

"What?" I said, continuing to study the bandage on my arm.

"The whole reason I wanted to meet with you in the first place?" said Jace dryly. "I remembered something else from that night."

"Tell me," I insisted, though at that point I was only half listening, still caught up in a few moments before.

"I remembered black eyes."

Suddenly, he had my full attention. "You remember eye color?" I said, maybe a little too sharply. "What about the rest of the face?"

He shook his head. "That's all I have. I remember leaning against some building, and the world was blurry, except for a pair of black eyes. They were so intense, it felt like they were physically burning me. I guess that's why they stayed with me all this time. "

"This is huge, Jace," I said, leaping to my feet and beginning to pace. "You have to tell the police. This could—this could clear my name." My excitement was growing swiftly. "This could change everything."

"It's not much to go off of," he said, his eyes following me warily. "I don't know how much it would help."

I spun around. "It could make all the difference in the world! In case you hadn't noticed, my eyes are not black. They're green."

"Yeah," he said quietly. "I've noticed."

Something about the way he said it made my face grow warm. To give myself something to do, I reached for my phone—only to find my pocket empty.

"Oh no," I groaned. "I dropped my phone in the park."

"I have it here." Jace reached into his pocket and took out my phone, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

"You are a lifesaver," I said, snatching it out of his hand. I discovered seven missed calls from Simon and my mom; the time told me it was after nine. I'd left my apartment at a little after six.

"Crap," I said. "My mom is going to kill me."

"I guess you have to go," he said, slouching further in his chair and slinging one leg over the arm. I didn't miss the way one hand was resting lightly on his stomach, the way he moved carefully to keep from jostling his wound. I thought about how he had carried me, how that could have bothered his injury.

"Are you…going to be okay?" I said, hesitating.

He smirked at me. "I've survived this long," he pointed out. He tipped his head back and closed his eyes. "Later, Gingerbread."

I stayed where I was. "Are you going to talk to the police?"

His expression stayed the same, except for the slight tightening of his jaw. "I'll think about it."

"You'll _think _about it?" I exclaimed. "This could be the thing that clears my name! You have to tell them—"

"I think you should get going," he interrupted, "before your mom busts your ass for being home late."

That little smirk on his face, the fact that he was considering withholding information from the police that could help me, was almost enough to erase the warmth that had been sloshing sickeningly inside of me all evening. Jace had saved me from Raphael, carried me to his house, let me rest in his bed, bandaged my arm, showed something almost like concern for me. But he wasn't willing to save me from this.

"Fine," I said, heading for the door. "I'll see you later, I guess." My voice sounded harder than it had before, but Jace didn't even open his eyes. I let myself out of his room, my heart still beating annoyingly fast, and hurried for home.

* * *

When I got home, my mom yelled at me for being out so late and neglecting to call. I'd shot her a text message as I was taking a taxi home, but I'd already known that it would be too little too late. When it came to me being out on the street alone, my mom was a real worrier. And, considering that I'd been attacked tonight, I couldn't really blame her for that.

I didn't bother trying to stand up for myself. I knew I'd been stupid to go running off on my own. And for what? Just to talk to Jace? I could have done that at school. I could have stopped tonight from happening. But if Raphael hadn't cornered me at the park, he would have found another way to do it. I was certain of that.

At school the next morning, I was still debating whether or not to tell Simon about the whole ordeal when he caught up to me by my locker.

"You would not believe what just happened to me," he said breathlessly, his eyes shining with excitement.

"Adam West finally answered one of your fanatic emails?" I suggested, shutting my locker door.

"Better. Isabelle talked to me."

I raised my eyebrows at him. "You finally got the guts to go up to her? Good for you, Simon!"

"That's the best part. _She _approached _me," _he said, practically glowing with the magnitude of his joy. "I was just sitting in chemistry, minding my own business, and she walked right up and struck up a conversation like it was the most natural thing in the world."

"Did you have to breathe into a paper bag afterward?"

Simon eyed me skeptically. "You seem to be lacking the proper enthusiasm for one of the happiest moments of my life," he said. "Is there any particular reason for that, or are you just crabby?"

I thought about using the old "It's nothing, I'm fine" excuse, the go-to move, but Simon had been around me enough to see through that. And besides, this wasn't something I should keep from him. Even if I wasn't brave enough to tell my mom, I could afford to tell Simon.

After glancing around to make sure no one was listening in, I quickly told him the events of the night before in a low voice. His expression went from sour—when I talked about going to meet Jace—to incredulous—when I told him about going to Central Park on my own—to horrified, when I got to the part about Raphael. His expression warned me that I should leave out the part where Jace had pinned me down in his bed. In fact, I left out the part about Jace's house altogether; it seemed rather unimportant at the moment.

"You were attacked?" he sputtered, his eyes as wide as Frisbees. "Clary, this is…this is serious. We have to tell the cops. We have to get you—I don't know, bodyguards? Maybe you should join the Witness Protection Program."

"It sounds like Raphael has had a lot of experience with crime, which means he's gotten good at avoiding the consequences," I replied. "Jace already implied that it would be useless to tell the police. I don't think they'd be able to catch him."

Simon stared. "Hello? Earth to Clary? Do you even understand what's going on? This is the _police _we're talking about! I think they'd be able to track him down—"

"It doesn't matter," I said testily. "He got his message across. Hopefully he'll leave me alone now."

"_Hopefully _he'll leave you alone? Oh, no. That's not good enough. I will not rest until that maniac is behind bars," he declared grimly.

Simon's determination to avenge me was nice, but it was also the last thing I wanted. Simon was already too involved in this whole disaster just by association with me; I didn't need someone like Raphael targeting him because he was turning people in to the police.

"I'll tell them," I said, reaching out and grabbing Simon's arm. "Don't get mixed up in this, Simon. I mean it."

Simon fixed me with a look. "Only if you promise you'll turn him in."

I didn't miss a beat. "Of course," I said, forcing my eyes not to waver from his. He searched my gaze a second longer before relaxing, buying my lie.

Either he really wanted to believe me, or I was getting better at acting.

"The important thing here is that Jace remembered something new," I said. "The eyes. Black, not green. He needs to give that information to the police. If he does, I might be off the hook." Even speaking the words gave me a sense of deep, premature relief. That relief was also mixed with apprehension. If Jace decided to keep his new findings to himself…

"It's about time that moron came through," said Simon, looking impressed. "I was beginning to think he was choosing not to remember on purpose. Is he going to go to the cops today?"

I bit the corner of my lip. "That's the thing. I'm not sure he's going to go at all."

"What?" he said, so loudly that every student passing us turned their heads to give him a look.

I shushed him angrily. "Simon, I'm trying to be discreet about all this, remember?"

"I'm going to punch his lights out," he growled, flexing his fists in a valiant yet somewhat weak show of violence. "He can't remember something like that and then just not give it to the cops. I know," he said. "We'll go to the police ourselves! Who needs him anyway?"

"They aren't going to believe it if it comes from us," I pointed out wearily. "And you aren't going to punch his lights out. It's already become pretty apparent that he doesn't respond well to people when they push him to do things. He has to decide to do it on his own. Neither of us are going to hunt him down and start lecturing him. Okay?"

"No promises," Simon muttered, but I could tell from his scowl that I'd won. For now.

When I walked into history, my eyes automatically went to Jace's usual seat. It was empty again. I wondered if he'd dropped out of school permanently. I was halfway to the back of the room when I realized that the desks around mine that were almost always vacant didn't look quite so lonely today.

Jace was slumped in the seat right next to mine. He didn't even look up as I headed toward him; his eyes were fixed lazily on a pencil that he rolled back and forth across his desk top. I considered turning around and choosing a desk far away from him just to make a point, but my feet clearly had other ideas. They carried me straight over to the seat next to his, and I plopped into it.

We sat in silence for a while, a silence that felt awkward to me. I kept my eyes on the door, watching as more kids trickled in, all of whom shot us bemused, incredulous looks when they caught sight of Jace Wayland sitting next to Clary Fray. It was a breach of the social norm that threw everyone off balance. I kind of enjoyed their discomfort.

"How's your arm?" His question was so unexpected that I almost didn't register he'd said it at all. I sent him a sideways look to see if I'd imagined it, only to discover that he was giving me the exact same sidelong glance. When our eyes met, his mouth curled up in a small smile.

"Fine, thanks," I said stiffly. I busied myself with opening my notebook and setting my pencils just so alongside it, wishing I could control the burning in my face as I felt his gaze on me.

Mr. Tasker walked in, scowling even more fiercely than usual. He spun smartly on his heel and began scribbling notes on the board without preamble. Jace, unperturbed by the presence of a teacher, continued to pursue conversation with me.

"You're mad at me, aren't you?" he said, and I thought I could hear amusement in his tone.

"Nope," I said, staring intently at the board without really seeing any of the writing there.

"I like to think that I'm fluent in the language of women, and when you say 'nope,' you mean 'hell yes.'"

"I'm trying to listen to the lesson," I hissed at him.

"You know telling the cops will just piss off whoever sent Raphael after you even more, right?" he said, keeping his voice low as the rest of the talk in the classroom died off and the only conversations were scarce and whispered. "It could put you in even more danger."

"And it could also save me from being thrown into prison," I whispered fiercely back.

"I knew you were mad," he said, almost triumphantly.

I cast a glance at Mr. Tasker to make sure he wasn't paying us any attention before daring to speak again. "I think I have a right to be mad. This is the proof I've been waiting for. And you're just going to keep it to yourself?"

Jace met my eyes, suddenly somber. "Are you sure this is what you want? Even though it poses a huge risk to you, me, anyone involved? The more we reveal about this guy, the more determined he's going to be to cover his tracks."

I suddenly couldn't meet his gaze. I stared hard at my notebook and nodded, clenching my jaw. "I'm sure," I said. "Tell the police what you remember, Jace."

I turned back to the front of the room, closing the conversation. Throughout the rest of the class, I could feel his gaze on me, inspiring all sorts of confusing feelings that I really didn't have the energy to sort through at the moment.

At lunch, I was tempted to hide out in the courtyard; it seemed like the last place I'd run into Jace. But the chance that I might see Sebastian there was too great, so I ended up going to the cafeteria with Simon after all. Even though I wasn't in the mood to see Jace, to feel that confusing mixture of anger, admiration, and helplessness, I was even more desperate to avoid Sebastian. The very memory of our last conversation filled me with mortification; he must hate me now. I'd completely shot him down, him, Sebastian Morgenstern, who'd probably never been turned down by a girl before in his life.

Simon and I were sitting alone at our usual table, he chattering about some anime and me politely nodding while involuntarily tuning him out, when another tray dropped onto the table beside mine, making me jump.

Simon and I looked up in unison and stared. Jace stood beside the bench, hands in his pockets, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Mind if I sit here today?" he said, as if it were the most normal request in the world.

Simon continued to look at him with his mouth hanging open, his mind most likely struggling to process the turn of events that had just occurred. I was sorely tempted to join him in his wordless shock, but I managed to get out, "I…guess."

Jace sat gracefully down beside me, heedless of the stares he was getting from all around the cafeteria as he crossed some serious social lines and entered the dark side.

Jace bit into an apple and chewed cheerfully away, oblivious to all the attention he was getting. Simon and I sat and stared at him, still trying to understand what was happening.

Simon leaned toward me to mutter, "Am I hallucinating?"

"If you are, then I'm having the same hallucination," I said faintly.

Jace seemed to finally notice the look Simon and I were giving him, and he adopted a look of surprise. "Oh, I'm sorry. Did you want some?" He held his half-eaten apple out to Simon, who recoiled from it as if it were a snake.

Jace, grinning, withdrew his hand and took another bite.

"So…" I said, eyes flitting between Jace and Simon and the tension that was starting to build under the surface. I cleared my throat uneasily. "Is there any, uh, particular reason you're sitting here, Jace?"

"I'm sick of Alec moping around, Sebastian bothering me, and Isabelle fussing over me," he answered with a little shrug and a scathing look in my direction, as if I should have known this without him having to explain. "Besides, a guy's got to be well-rounded in his social life, don't you think?"

Simon's incredulous expression was quickly lapsing into a scowl. "I don't think this is a good idea," he said stiffly. "I think you should go back to your own table."

Jace raised his eyebrows at him. "I am offended, Lyman," he said. "I was beginning to think that you had a soft spot for me."

Simon's glower deepened. "First of all, it's Simon," he growled. "Secondly, what have I ever done to make you think that I feel anything other than hatred for you?"

"Simon," I said under my breath, beginning to feel embarrassed for both of them. Half the cafeteria seemed to be tuning in, watching Jace's every move and still trying to figure out what hilarious joke he was trying to pull by sitting with us.

"I assumed that my youthful charms were beginning to get to you," said Jace. "Don't think I haven't seen the looks you sneak me, Lewis." And then he winked, causing Simon's jaw to drop and his eyes to widen in horror.

"Jace, stop teasing Simon," I snapped. "What are you doing here, really?"

"Thought I'd tell you that I'm going to the police station after school. If I don't show up to class tomorrow, it's probably safe to assume that I'm dead," he said, holding the stem of his apple between his fingers and watching as the core spun in quick little circles.

"You're going to tell them?" My heart soared. He'd listened to me. He was going to tell the police what he remembered, and I wasn't going to be a wanted criminal anymore.

Jace shrugged. "Why not?"

I had the sudden urge to throw my arms around him, but with Simon glaring at us, I didn't think that would go over so well.

The sound of high heels clicking obnoxiously on the hard cafeteria floor alerted me to her presence, and her overpowering perfume was my next clue, enveloping us like a toxic cloud of Eau de Parfum.

"Hey, Jace." Aline's voice was sultry as she addressed him. She rounded the table so that she could face him, putting her hands on her hips and throwing her hip seductively out to the side. She didn't spare Simon, who sat literally inches away from her, looking like he was about to gag on the flowery fumes coming off her, even a scarce glance.

"Aline." All traces of humor or good mood had vanished from Jace's face. He now looked bored and thoroughly irritated, something that Aline didn't seem to notice.

"I was just wondering what you were doing over here with…" The withering look she shot me more than made up for her failure to find an adjective with which to describe me.

"A nice change of pace is important every now and then, don't you think?" he said, continuing to spin his apple core.

Aline laughed, and then broke off awkwardly when she realized he wasn't joking. "Why don't you come and sit with us?" She looked directly at me for the first time, and the hatred on her face was probably reflected in my own. I get along with most people, but Aline Penhallow is not one of them. "You don't have to sit with It and It II." I only managed to keep my mouth shut by envisioning her face after I'd socked her in the nose, and I had to suppress a smile of vicious satisfaction.

"Mm," was all Jace said, without looking at her.

Aline was beginning to look insulted by the lack of interest he seemed to have in her. "Fine," she said, all huffy. "I'll see you after school, then. Or have you integrated with the losers so fully that you're going to blow us off for that, too?" She turned and stormed away, something she was quite good at. I made a face at her retreating form and fought the urge to yank the apple core out of Jace's hand and hurl it after her.

"Is that your girlfriend?" Simon asked dubiously.

"To all intents and purposes," Jace sighed tragically.

I felt my stomach twist itself into a hundred tiny little knots. "I didn't know you two were still dating," I said, fighting to keep my tone neutral. "I kind of figured you'd…" I shrugged. "Outgrown her."

"Why, Clary," Jace said, tilting his head toward me and lowering his lids. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think you sounded jealous."

I saw Simon move restlessly out of the corner of my eye, but I was too busy glaring at Jace to take my eyes off of him. "I'm not jealous," I said frostily. "I just think you could do a lot better than _her."_

He smiled slightly and tipped just a little bit closer to me. "How much better were you thinking?"

I couldn't find a response to that. I just stared at him mutely, and then was saved from my humiliating brain glitch by the ringing of the bell, signaling the end of lunch.

Simon stood up so quickly that Jace and I both looked up at him in surprise. He was glowering worse than ever, and he all but spit out, "Come on, Clary." He grabbed my arm and literally dragged me off the bench, towing me forcefully toward the cafeteria door. I made the mistake of looking back over my shoulder; Jace was staring after us, grinning as if he were watching the most amusing sitcom he'd ever seen. I looked away quickly, face burning.

Simon kept on pulling me along behind him, knocking into people who were streaming in the opposite direction, something that was very out of character for him. I tried to yank away from him, but he kept his hold. "Simon!" I protested, almost losing my balance as a senior guy careened into my shoulder.

He released me only when we had turned a corner and he'd put a satisfactory amount of distance between us and the cafeteria. Then he turned, folded his arms, and glared at me.

"What was that?" I demanded, resentfully rubbing my slightly sore wrist. "You can't just go dragging people through the halls—"

"Don't do this, Clary," he said, sounding half angry and half pleading.

"Do what?" I muttered, still distracted by my own indignation.

"Don't fall for him."

My head snapped up and my jaw fell open. "Wh-what?"

He sighed and rubbed his forehead. "I just want to protect you," he said, his voice grating with frustration. "That's all I've tried to do since we met. And I can't really do that if you throw yourself at guys like Jace Wayland."

I took a step back as if he'd slapped me. "_Throw _myself?" I said incredulously. "Who do you think I am? When have I ever thrown myself at anyone?"

"You haven't," he said crisply. "But that's most likely because you haven't found anyone worth your time." Was I imagining the bitterness in his voice? "But the way you act around Wayland now…it's like you've transformed into a totally different person. You used to hate that guy's guts, Clary. What happened?"

"Sure, fine, I don't hate him anymore," I said heatedly. "So what? Doesn't that make life easier for all of us, having one less enemy in the world? He's not as bad as he seems, Simon. He can be nice, and thoughtful, and he even—"

"Stop." Simon held up his hands, shaking his head back and forth. "I don't want to hear you gush about him. I don't want to hear how great he is. I get enough of that from sitting behind the cheerleaders in third period."

"I'm not gushing about him! I'm just saying that…he's different now. He doesn't go out of his way to humiliate us anymore. Haven't you noticed? He—"

"There," he said, pointing at me. "You just said it yourself. He used to go out of his way to humiliate us. Have you forgotten about that? Have you forgotten the hell he's put us through? The things he's done? And what about that party, huh? Have you forgotten about that, too? Because he turned on the charm then, too, to try to get you to come, and you almost did. You thought about going, because he smiled his Baywatch smile at you and you crumbled like a cookie. Have you ever considered that that's exactly what he's doing now? Buttering you up for an even worse humiliation?"

"Stop," I whispered, fighting the urge to cover my ears like a child. "He doesn't want to humiliate me anymore."

"Sorry, I forgot. He's _different _now." The acid in Simon's voice hurt like he'd smacked me. "You may have forgotten all that awful stuff he did to you, Clary, but I sure haven't. Ask him about that party. Just ask him. I want to hear just what he was planning to do to you. Then maybe he won't be Mr. Perfect in your eyes anymore."

With that, Simon spun and walked away, leaving me to stare after him, feeling more alone than I had in a very long time.

* * *

It turned out Jace hadn't "turned into too much of a loser" to join his friends at the diner at 3:30. It was the first time he'd come in days, and instead of feeling dread when I saw him walk through the doors, I felt a small, unfamiliar thrill.

But that thrill was spoiled as Simon's words from that afternoon came tumbling back to me. Jace looked up and caught me staring; instead of smirking, he grinned, a genuine smile that crinkled his eyes at the corners and flashed his bright teeth. I smiled back as best I could and then quickly turned away, eyes smarting.

Simon had avoided me for the rest of the afternoon. I would have liked to think that he had no reason to be so angry, but I knew that was a lie. He had every reason. We'd been united against Jace and his crew for our entire high school lives. He must feel so betrayed now, finding that I no longer hated Jace the way he did. He must have felt as alone as I did now.

I'd tried to catch up with him after school, but he'd already gone home without me. Calling him had been useless; I'd gotten his voicemail each time. He hadn't answered my texts. Simon wasn't a petty person, so I knew he was genuinely upset. I hated myself for causing him pain, but at the same time I still didn't feel guilty for reconsidering my opinion of Jace. Why insist on hating him if I could no longer find any reason to?

When I approached Jace's table to take everyone's order, I was greeted with the usual sneers and jibes. Aline, who made a point of sitting as close to Jace as was humanly possible, gave me a look that felt like it could poison me. As I watched, she took Jace's arm and draped it over her shoulders possessively. Jace, looking bored, made no move to take it away.

My stomach clenched again.

My eyes moved inadvertently to Sebastian, who sat on Jace's other side. I started when I saw that his eyes were fixed intently on me. It was unnerving. I looked away quickly and wrote down the orders the others threw at me, for once totally unbothered by their accompanying derisive comments.

As I was filling their drinks, Sebastian decided to leave his pack and follow me.

"Listen," he said in a voice as smooth as honey that did nothing to soothe me, "I'm sorry about the other day. I shouldn't have been so forward. I don't know what got into me."

"It's fine," I said, concentrating on filling the drinks. "I completely understand."

"You're still angry with me," he guessed.

"Well, I'm not happy about the whole Alec situation." I glanced back toward his table. "Does Jace know about all of that?"

Sebastian's eyes hardened, and I went back over my words, trying to find something in them that could have upset him. "No, but Isabelle gave me an earful after you told her," he said. His eyes watched me. "She warned you about Jace, didn't she?"

A jolt went through me, but I tried to appear calm. "That's not really your business."

"Clary, I care about you," he said, startling me. "And Isabelle's right. Jace has many costumes, disguises, that he can put on at will. You can't trust someone like him." He blinked slowly and said softly, "I hope you'll forgive me someday, and I hope you'll come to understand why I'm doing what I'm doing."

I reached out and caught his arm as he started to turn away. When he looked back at me, I didn't miss the flicker of emotion in his eyes. Hope? I wasn't sure, but it sent a little surge of feeling through me that I couldn't identify.

"Why?" I said in a low voice. "Why are you blackmailing him?"

Sebastian only looked at me.

"If you ever want me to understand," I went on more fiercely, "then you have to tell me this."

There was a long beat of silence in which I began to think he wasn't going to say anything after all. But then he said quietly, "I did something once, something I'm not proud of. Alec knows about it. I don't want him spreading it around."

I released his arm, more out of shock than as a dismissal, but he quickly turned and strode back to his table, sliding into the booth again. His eyes rested on me until I found the will to turn away. I found Mona standing not far away, frozen, staring at me with wide eyes. When I caught her looking, she hurried away, her expression strangely twisted. I had too much on my mind to pay her much attention.

What had Sebastian done that was so bad he had to blackmail Alec to keep him from saying anything? What kind of person was Sebastian, really?

I wasn't sure I wanted to know.

* * *

I was exhausted after my shift. My brain felt as if it had worn a hole through itself with all the thoughts circling endlessly through it. I would go from thinking about Jace to Sebastian to Simon to Raphael and then start the cycle over again. After I was in my room, I kept picking up my phone and staring at the screen, waiting for contact from someone, trying to decide whether I should be the one to call. But who did I want to call? Simon? Jace?

I ended up hurling my phone onto the bed. It bounced once before settling onto the bedspread, taunting me with its blank screen.

The worst part was, I was more tempted to call Jace than I was to call Simon. What was the matter with me? I had parted ways with Simon on bad terms; this was the worst fight we'd had in a long time. I should be dying to make amends, leaving him thousands of messages and texts, doing my best to repent my sins. But it was Jace's voice I wanted to hear, not Simon's, and that made me feel like the worst person on the planet.

I had good reason to talk to Jace, I tried to reassure myself. He'd agreed to tell the police about what he'd remembered. I had to ask him about it. But no matter how much I repeated this in my head, it didn't chase away the uncomfortable feeling that it wasn't a business call I wanted to make.

I jumped as someone buzzed up to the apartment. The sound was faint in my bedroom, but I'd been sitting in such utter silence that it seemed deafening to me. I heard my mom, who'd gotten home approximately ten minutes ago, tiredly answer into the intercom. I let my mind wander off again. It was probably Luke, or some punk who liked to push all the intercom buttons just to irritate everyone in the building.

Turns out, though, I was way off.

I heard the front door open, and I waited absently to hear Luke's familiar voice drift through my bedroom door. However, his voice wasn't the one that reached me. Oh, no. This voice was distinctly younger, low and very familiar.

I sat bolt upright on my bed, my mouth falling open. No way.

I bolted out of my bedroom, hoping I wasn't about to see what I was afraid I was about to see.

I reached the front room and saw it.

"Oh, good," my mom said, turning her back on the guest and giving me a wide-eyed, _You want to tell me what's going on? _look. "I was just coming to get you. This boy says he's here to see you."

"Hey, Gingerbread," said Jace, grinning at me over my mom's head. "Thought I'd stop by and see how you were."

"What are you doing here?" I said stupidly.

"I was in the neighborhood," he answered with a one-shouldered shrug. "I was just introducing myself to your lovely mother." He gave her one of his most charming smiles. My mom, who was cynical enough to never be deceived by a pretty face, only gazed at him levelly.

"Are you the boy that was…?" She trailed off, unable to find the right way to finish her sentence.

"Stabbed?" he suggested, and my mom flushed. "Yep, that's me."

"I see." My mom turned and gave me another look. "I'm going to go and paint some more. You're welcome to stay for a while…ah, Jace, was it?"

"Yes. Thank you, ma'am," he said respectfully. My mom gave him a thin-lipped smile before hurrying into the other room, casting me one last glance over her shoulder before she left.

"What are you doing in my house?" I hissed as soon as she was gone. "Are you nuts?"

"You came to mine," he responded, wandering over to a bookcase and beginning to examine its contents. "I think it's only fair that I get to snoop around in your house."

"How did you even know where I live?" I demanded, running a hand through my hair and twisting my fingers into the strands, fighting the urge to pull it out from the roots out of frustration.

"New York is my city, Clary," he said, sliding a novel out of its place and flipping curiously through its pages. "I know where everyone lives."

He was clearly dodging the question, but it wasn't the most important one on my list, so I let it slide. "Why are you really here?"

"Maybe we shouldn't talk here," he said casually, slanting a look toward the door my mom might very well be eavesdropping behind.

I hesitated for only a heartbeat, but it was enough for him to notice. He smirked and I straightened my shoulders, turning on my heel and stalking toward my bedroom. "Come on, then," I said sourly.

It wasn't until I had stepped into my room that I realized what a mess it was. I mentally compared it to Jace's spotless, pristine room, and felt embarrassment flood through me. If quickly snatched a bra I'd draped over the back of a chair and hid it behind my back, wadding it up into a ball in my hands. When you live in a house with just one other person, that person happening to be a female, you don't think much about concealing little things like that.

Jace walked right in, his eyes instantly scouring the place. I silently died inside as his lips turned upward. "Nice place," was all he said, his eyes settling on the pile of clothes by my closet, clean but not yet folded.

"Thanks," I muttered, taking advantage of his distraction and dropping the bra underneath my desk.

"I can't stay long," he said, sliding his hands into his pockets. "I just wanted to let you know that…it's done."

"What's done?" I said, my heart already starting to speed up.

"I told the police what I remembered," he answered, advancing farther into my room. He stared thoughtfully at a picture of my mom and me that hung on the wall. I was about thirteen in the picture, my arms draped around my mom's neck. Both of us were beaming; seeing the picture, how carefree we looked, sent a rush of sadness through me.

I took a step toward him, my eyes on his back, which was turned toward me. "You did? What…" I took a breath, trying to shake off the tremble that had just started in my fingers. "What did they say?"

"They didn't say much of anything," Jace said. "They thanked me for the information. A few of them shut themselves up in an office. Maybe they wanted to plan on the best way they could apologize to you, after what they put you through."

"Be serious, Jace."

"I am." He turned to face me abruptly. He crossed the space that separated us so quickly that I didn't have time to back away. Our close proximity reminded me of when he'd pinned me to his bed, our faces only inches apart, the playful look in his eye that warned me he'd probably done the very same thing to a dozen other girls. But that knowledge hadn't erased the soaring feeling in my chest.

"Clary." His voice was low now, solemn. "You saved my life. If…if not for you, I might not be here now." His golden eyes shifted over my head, looking troubled. "I didn't thank you properly before. I handled it all wrong, in fact. But I didn't know how to show my gratitude without…"

"Without?" I prompted, my heart feeling as if it were trying to beat its way out of my body.

His mouth pulled up in a little smile and he shook his head. "Nothing. But I…I guess I'm trying to say that I wish none of this had happened to you. You didn't deserve to go through all this. You had nothing to do with what happened that night, and the police have suspected you ever since. It couldn't have been you. I can see that from a mile away, but I suppose they couldn't. The most I can hope for now is that everyone forgets you were ever involved." The fierceness in his tone surprised me. I tipped my head back so that I could look closely into his face.

"Thank you," I said quietly. "For telling them. I know you didn't really want to."

Jace didn't meet my eye. "It was the least I could do," he said casually.

"Is that what you came here to tell me?" I asked, searching his eyes with my own, waiting until he met my gaze.

At last, he did, and the softness in them nearly took my breath away. "I came to tell you that I'm sorry," he murmured, and I'd never heard anyone sound so sincere before. "I'm sorry I got you involved. I'm sorry you've suffered." I heard him inhale, a sharp, quick, shaky sound, and I felt something inside of me, like a hand had yanked on a vital organ and left me feeling weak and unsteady.

"I'm sorry," he repeated. There was a short stretch of silence in which we stared at each other, and I tried to find a scrap of the person I had once hated in his face. I couldn't find anything.

Abruptly, the sincerity and vulnerability on his face was masked over by his usual smirk. "That's all I had to say," he said, backing away toward the door. He kept his eyes on mine. "I'll see you tomorrow, Gingerbread."

Then he turned and was gone. I heard the front door close behind him as he left. I stood in the same place he'd left me, staring at the door.

I remembered exactly what he'd said that day at the park. _My father taught me never to apologize unless I actually mean it. _He had come to my house just to tell me that he was sorry I'd gotten involved in this mess. He had done something that meant a lot to him, that carried a lot of weight.

I was surprised to feel my eyes stinging with moisture and a sizable lump growing in my throat. I hastily rubbed my eyes with my palms to stop the tears before they started. When I drew my hands away, I discovered that I was smiling, and I couldn't stop for the life of me.

* * *

_So next chapter a certain EVENT takes place...an event that involves Jace and Clary...and their mouths...doing something other than talking... If you know what I mean. Which you probably do, because I don't know the meaning of the word "subtle."_

_Thank you SO much for reading, and for your wonderful reviews! They never fail to make me smile like an idiot. You guys are great!_


	31. Chapter 31

I hunted Simon down the next day at school. He was surprisingly good at evading me, but not good enough. I found him at his locker between periods. He took one look at me, barreling toward him down the hall, and tried to make a break for it. I caught him by his backpack strap before he could vanish into the sea of students rushing past us.

"Not so fast," I growled, yanking him back. "You can't avoid me forever, Lewis."

"I can damn well try," he said, but I could tell his heart wasn't in it.

"Why haven't you called?" I demanded. "Why haven't you answered my texts?"

"I didn't really know what to say," he said stiffly, staring fixedly over my shoulder. My temper started to bubble. So now he couldn't even look me in the eye?

"Look, Simon," I snapped, losing patience. "I'm sorry that I don't hate Jace anymore. I know that was what brought us together in the first place. But just because I feel differently about Jace doesn't mean I feel differently about you. You'll always be my best friend. I don't understand why you can't grasp that."

"That's the problem," I thought he muttered.

"Excuse me?" I said, raising my eyebrows.

"You really can't see it," he said. He let out a sigh, his shoulders slumping as if he'd just blown out all his anger and its absence left him tired. "I care about you, Clary," Simon said, and the resemblance of what he'd just said to what Sebastian had said yesterday sent a chill through me. "And I'm trying to protect you. I've told you that before. Jace is bad news, and we both know it."

"Why does everyone keep saying that?" I burst out. "First Isabelle, then Sebastian, now you. Why is everyone convinced that Jace isn't capable of anything but cruelty?" I swept on before Simon could interject. "You know what he did last night? He came to my house, just to apologize. He told the cops what he remembered, even though he wasn't sure he wanted to do it. He did it for me, Simon. And I don't know about you, but I don't think those are the actions of someone who's out to hurt me."

Simon looked at me like he might look at a stranger, someone he'd thought he knew but had mistaken for someone else. "Are you really that blind?" he said in disbelief. "Didn't we already go over this? What if he's tricking you?"

"He's not!" I almost shouted. "Dammit, Simon. He's not evil to the core, all right? People are capable of change. Including him."

Simon's whole face hardened. "Fine," he said coolly. "But do one thing for me. If you do this and get a straight answer out of him, if you get the truth and you still trust him after it, then I'll accept that he's changed. I'll accept that he's someone that maybe I could stand to be around you." A spasm of pain went across his face, and I automatically reached out for his hand. He drew it away.

"I'll do anything," I said more quietly than before, a little ashamed of my outburst.

"Just ask him about the party, Clary," Simon said, and my heart dropped. "This is the last time I'll ask you to do it. But I won't trust him until you know." He gave me a look that was more sad than angry before turning and joining the tide of people walking down the hall.

I sat through period after period, biting at my lip and agonizing over what Simon had said. Every bit of me was desperate to believe that the Jace I had seen last night, open and honest and genuine, was the real Jace. But Simon had a point. Jace had done awful things to both of us. And what about that party? Simon was right. I had to know what had happened before I could risk getting any closer to Jace than I already was. I couldn't be his friend until I knew the truth.

I marched into history with a feeling of steely determination. My determination faltered, however, when I saw Jace, once again seated in the back row next to my usual desk. My legs turned into rubber and I stumbled over my own feet as I headed toward him. I stopped and loomed over his desk, clutching my notebook to my chest.

Jace turned his head and smiled at me. My heart did a somersault. Why did he have to look like that? Why did he have to grin like he was so happy to see me? Why did he have to sit in the back with me, and come to my house at night to apologize, and make me feel warm all over when I saw him?

"We have to talk," I said, my voice coming out with a tremor. I cleared my throat. "Alone."

"Fine," he said easily. "We can find a place after class."

I spent the remainder of the period jittery and anxious, bouncing my leg up and down and tapping my fingernail impatiently on the desk top. I kept shooting Jace sideways looks, only to find that he was doing the same. Every time he caught my eye, he would smirk and waggle his eyebrows, and for just a second my anxiety would disappear and I would have to suppress a smile. But the second I turned my eyes back to the front of the room, my worries came rushing back.

When the bell rang, I was on my feet before anyone else in the classroom. I waited next to Jace's desk, bouncing a little on the balls of my feet in an effort to use up a little nervous energy. Everyone gave me strange looks as they left the room, wondering why Clary Fray would be waiting for Jace Wayland. I was able to ignore them more efficiently than I usually could, thanks to my preoccupation with what I was about to do.

Jace took his sweet time gathering his things. When he finally rose from his seat and slung his bag over his shoulder, I was ready to explode with tension. "Lead on," he said calmly, and I almost darted from the classroom. He followed at his own leisurely pace, taking the time to fist bump his friends in the hall and exchange friendly greetings.

"Can you go any faster?" I said impatiently. When he turned his head to look at me, I had to catch my breath at the shine of anticipation in his eyes. He was still grinning away like he was having the best day ever. I couldn't begin to figure out what was going on with him.

Jace suddenly picked up the pace, striding purposefully ahead of me. I had to jog to keep up with him on my shorter legs. "Where are you going?" I demanded.

"You wanted to talk in private, didn't you? I'm bringing us to a private place."

I snorted to myself but didn't bother objecting. The look on his face told me he'd already made up his mind. And what did it matter where we went, anyway? He was going to answer my question no matter where we were, and I had a feeling neither of us would like the experience.

"Where—" I started to ask again, but he stopped abruptly, causing me to bump into his back. I peeked around him and let out an involuntary little bark of laughter. It was the janitor's closet we'd once argued in, the one where he had allegedly caught Mr. Tasker and Miss Haynes making out.

"Ladies first," he said with another glowing smile as he opened the door. He gestured me in with a ridiculous flourish, and I found myself hiding another smile. I glanced around to make sure no one was watching and then slid into the closet.

He entered after me and shut the door behind him. The space seemed a lot smaller than I remembered. The smell of cleaning supplies was overpowering. Being enclosed in this closet was not doing wonders for my nerves. I longed to run out and through the halls and out the school, and keep running until I reached my bedroom and could hide there forever.

Jace turned to face me and I took a breath, steeling myself. The words were on the tip of my tongue, about to come pouring out, but clearly I wasn't the only one who'd had plans.

Jace was right there, right in front of me, our breaths mingling together. His scent chased away the unpleasant, sharp tang of the cleaning supplies, and I found myself inhaling it, savoring the warmth it supplied me.

"I have something to ask you," I stammered, forcing myself to meet his burning golden eyes.

"And what's that?" he whispered.

I blinked. He was smiling, and I was close enough that I could see a chip in his tooth. It was the fault I'd been searching for in him ever since the day I'd met him. How had I never noticed it before? It was an imperfection, and yet it seemed to make him more perfect than ever.

My carefully arranged thoughts had been completely derailed. He was so close, filling up the space all around me. I was tempted to ask him to step back, but my mouth refused to form the words.

"I can't remember," I said, dazed.

He laughed quietly, and the sound sent a small thrill through me. "You're incredible," he said.

I opened my mouth to respond, to object to what was obviously mockery on his part, but he never gave me the chance.

Because at that moment, he leaned his head down and kissed me.

Let's just say I hadn't been expecting it.

My mind went blank. It flat lined. My body stopped cooperating. At first I stood there woodenly, trying to absorb the shock of the feeling of his lips—which by the way, were warm and soft and molded against mine like we kissed on a daily basis—on mine. I could feel him smiling against my mouth as one of his hands came around and cupped the back of my head and the other snaked around my waist, holding me against him, as if I were making any effort to escape.

I stood there like an idiot as my first kiss unfolded with the boy that I had once said I hated.

My eyes were frozen open. I was staring at his closed eyelids, at his perfect face that was clearly enjoying every second of this—though I wasn't sure if it was the actual kissing he liked or the fact that I was so stupefied by it.

"Come on, Gingerbread, I know you can do better than that," he murmured, his lips brushing against mine as he spoke.

And then something in my head reconnected, though it wasn't the sensible part of me. Oh, no. It was the part of me that wanted to instinctively respond to the body pressed against mine. The part of me I hadn't known existed, until that moment.

My arms were around his neck before I knew what was happening. My eyes snapped shut and I leaned forward into him, my lips moving by themselves to talk against his. If I had been in any semblance of a normal presence of mind, I would have been agonizing over everything. Was I a good kisser? Was I throwing myself into it too enthusiastically? Did he want to stop?

Scratch that—if I'd been in a normal state of mind, I would have shoved him away and slugged him for good measure.

But I had turned into a different person in the space of a few seconds, and boy, was it glorious.

My fingers wound themselves into his hair, securing him in place and threatening pain if he dared try to pull away. He, however, didn't seem to have any intention of doing that. His own hand had a good fistful of my hair, and the hand around my waist was braced on the small of my back, pressing me more firmly against him. A little gasp escaped me, a squeaky sucking of air that made his arms tighten around me. And then his hands were everywhere, tracing and memorizing, and even though it had been more than I'd ever experienced, it felt natural to me. His fingers left trails of flame on my skin, seeping through my clothes, igniting me from the inside out.

He made a noise in his throat; it sounded playful and electric and it made my skin tingle. Jace backed me up until I was pressed against a shelf, trapped between him and a bucket of sponges. I came up for air with a gasp before going back in for more.

I'd never felt anything like this before. My heartbeat thundered in my ears, and I could feel his heart pounding right up against mine. I was flying, soaring over everything, leaving the world behind me. Time and space didn't exist anymore; all that existed was Jace, his lips moving with mine, the scent and feel of him. My teeth grazed his lip and I felt something like a shudder go through him.

In that moment, only one thought played in my head, echoing like I'd shouted it over a canyon and the rock walls were carrying it back to me over and over again. _You are beautiful, Jace Wayland. _

Jace must have brushed against the mop leaning against the wall, because it toppled sideways and hit me smack on the top of the head.

I recoiled away from it instinctively, breaking the kiss. And then reason returned to me, and I realized what I was doing.

I was standing in a janitor's closet. Making out.

With. Jace. Wayland.

Our heavy breathing filled the space around us. To my horror, I realized one of my legs had somehow come up to wrap around his; we were very much entangled together.

This had been my first kiss. My first freaking kiss. You only get one of those in a lifetime.

And I'd just had mine with Jace Wayland.

"Holy crap," I whispered.

Jace, who was wearing a cross between a half-smile and a smirk, replied, "I second that sentiment."

"You kissed me," I said in a strained voice.

"You kissed me back," he responded.

I noticed my hands were still in Jace's hair, and had curled into fists upon the breaking of my lustful spell, and I was probably causing him some measure of pain in his scalp, but he certainly wasn't complaining. I released him and quickly dropped my leg from around his, my instinct to back away foiled by the shelf I was still pressed against.

"Are you uncomfortable?" he asked, making no effort to move away.

"Yes!" I squeaked, putting my hands against his chest and pushing weakly. My bones felt as if they'd turned to milk. I think I had gone into shock or something. The magnitude of what I'd just done was really starting to hit me.

Jace moved with painstaking slowness, taking his hand away from my back and unwinding the long strands of my hair from his fingers. I felt a sharp tugging and winced. "Watch it!"

"Sorry," he said with infuriating calm. "My ring's stuck in your hair."

"You wear a ring?" I found myself asking, instead of my initial response, which was, _I don't care, just get your hand the hell out of my hair!_

"A family ring. The only thing I have left of my father."

I opened my mouth, a heartbeat away from expressing my deepest condolences, and was again reminded of the present situation and how monumental it was.

I yanked my head away from his hand, only succeeding in causing myself enough pain to bring tears to my eyes.

"Hold on," Jace said, reaching over and slowly disentangling his ring from my hair. Once he was released, he dropped both hands, but he didn't back up. "See, that wasn't so hard, was it?"

"I…have to go," I said, my voice cracking humiliatingly.

Jace's golden eyes were unreadable, studying my face steadily. "You don't have to," he said quietly, and the lack of antagonism or humor in his voice made the beast that had caused me to kiss him stir.

I stared at him as my panic and confusion grew. What had just happened? Why had he done that? Why had I _responded _like that? My mind was crammed full of questions, none of which I was in any state to answer.

I opened my mouth, struggling to find something, anything, to say, but the part of my brain that supplied me with any kind of coherence whatsoever had packed up and left. My feet decided to take matters into their own hands, and began to carry me clumsily toward the door. I almost took a tumble to the ground as I tripped over a bucket, but I kept going, my hands shoving the door open and releasing me into the hall.

I stopped for a second, dragging in big breaths of air while still having the sense not to do it in a way that would alert him to my panic attack.

"Clary?" Jace left the closet after me. I could feel him behind me, like his presence was radiating toward me like a beam of heat, in a way I'd never been aware of him before. In the space of just a few minutes, everything about him had changed. I could still feel his fingers tangled in my hair, pressed against my back, his lips whispering against mine, the fire in his gold eyes.

A part of me was wholeheartedly, desperately terrified of what had just transpired between us, while another part was deliciously electric, demanding to go over every last detail of the kiss, to relive it in any way I possibly could.

I don't know which part was worse. All I knew was that the two feelings were crashing together in a blurred, jumbled mess.

I took another breath and then turned around to face Jace, who watched me with dark eyes. He didn't wear a mask of indifference for once; I could see his emotions on his face, which only made things all the more confusing for me.

"Why did you do that?" I whispered.

Jace opened his mouth to reply, but then paused as a few students passed between us, oblivious to what had just happened, of what they were interrupting. I took the opportunity to push my hands through my tangled hair, trying to get a hold of myself.

Jace folded his arms and flashed a restless look at the kids around us, the kids that made it impossible for us to have privacy. Good. I wasn't sure I could handle being alone with him now.

"Can we go somewhere?" he asked in a low voice, and his eyes pleaded with me to say yes.

"Answer my question," I said, my voice coming out louder than I intended. A few people stopped to give us curious looks. "_Why did you do that?" _

His eyes locked on mine, shadowed and suddenly closed off again, and he said, "I don't know."

I hadn't realized that I'd been waiting for a certain answer until I felt a crushing sense of disappointment at what he'd said. He didn't _know _why he'd kissed me? He couldn't come up with any explanation? He had no reasoning at all?

It wasn't because he liked me?

I ferociously shoved that thought away. No. I would not go there, not now.

"Fine," I said, already taking a few steps away from him, my voice quavering out of control. "Let me know when you figure it out."

I turned away and got out of there, my heart pounding a violent and wild rhythm in my chest, my eyes stinging with unexpected tears. I wasn't sure if he would try coming after me, but I heard no pursuing footsteps. I glanced over my shoulder just once, to see that the place where he'd been standing was empty.

Gritting my teeth, I pushed past the sea of students in the hall, wanting nothing more than to make all of them, including him, including _me, _disappear.

* * *

My emotions were out of control for the rest of the day. I went from wanting to cry to wanting to scream to wanting to throw something. And all I could think about was him. Jace, Jace, Jace. All I could feel was his lips on mine, all I could see was his eyes as he looked at me, the expression on his face when he said he didn't know why he'd kissed me in the first place.

And to make matters worse, Simon continued to avoid me, which only reminded me of the reason I'd wanted to talk to Jace in private in the first place. I'd been meaning to ask him about the night of the party, and what exactly he'd planned on doing to me. The answer wouldn't only bring Simon back, but it would satisfy the uncomfortable curiosity that had been itching under my skin for weeks now, a curiosity I hadn't wanted to acknowledge.

I wasn't sure I wanted to know what Jace had planned to do to me. And now I wasn't sure if I'd ever have the chance to find out, anyway. How could I face him, after what had happened?

I would just forget about the whole thing. Forget about the party, the attack, the secrets, the confusion. Forget about Jace. He'd told the police; surely I wasn't a suspect anymore. I could leave that part of my life behind me. I was finished with it.

But why did the very thought of that make my heart ache? I wouldn't miss being a criminal suspect. That part kind of sucked. But when I imagined distancing myself from Jace, no longer talking to him, no longer seeing his smile or allowing myself to feel that little thrill in my stomach…I couldn't bear it.

What had happened to me, anyway? Simon was right. This wasn't just about accepting that Jace was changing for the better.

This was about something a lot deeper and a lot more concerning.

I was driving myself nuts by the end of the school day. I had scratched a deep indent into the desktop in my English class with my pencil; it had started out as an absentminded thing, but as my thoughts grew more and more frustrated I had gouged the line out of malice.

As the end of eighth period drew toward me, I came to a realization: I was angry. Not just angry, I was furious. I wasn't even positive who my anger was directed at. Jace, for walking into my life in the first place, for kissing me, for making me feel things I didn't understand? Simon, for forcing me to ask a question I wasn't sure I wanted to ask? Or was it myself I was so mad at? I'd thought I'd known myself before now. I'd been confident in who I was: a nobody, an artist, a best friend, a daughter, a victim. But now? Now I wasn't sure who I was anymore.

But as the last bell rang and everyone jumped eagerly from their seats, happy to have finished the day, I was certain of one thing.

For once, this was about me. This was about doing something that _I_ wanted. And I knew exactly what I wanted right now. This had nothing to do with Simon, my family, or anyone else. This was for me.

I had enough angry energy pumping through my veins that I had no trouble shoving past other kids in the hall. Everyone stared at me as I carved a path through their midst, startled by the stubbornness on my face, not daring to step into my way and stop me.

My eyes scanned each face, leaving them the minute I ascertained who it was—or rather, who it wasn't.

As I reached the front of the school, I spotted a golden head bobbing amongst the rest of the student body. I zeroed in on that head, everything else seeming to turn gray around me, and plowed forward with a new burst of speed.

He got out the front doors before I could catch up with him. No way was I going to let him get out of it that easily. No way was I going to let all this fury go to waste. I'd made a decision, and if I didn't act on it now, maybe I never would.

I slammed my palm against the door, and it flung open with a bang that caused other nearby heads to swivel in my direction. But he just kept on walking, his stride swift and long, trying to put as much distance between the school and himself as possible.

I pounded down the few steps that led up to the school and stormed after him, feeling like I could rip a lamppost up from the ground and throw it at him if I had half a mind.

"Hey!" I shouted, and his footsteps slowed for only a beat. Then he regained his pace, walking as if he hadn't heard me. "_Hey!" _I repeated, running to catch up.

I lunged forward and caught his arm, planting my feet and dragging us both to a hard halt. "I want to talk to you," I all but snarled, every nerve in my body singing with electricity as our skin made contact.

"I don't want to talk," he said, his voice whipping back at me harshly. "You made your feelings on what happened perfectly clear. There's nothing else to say."

"And how exactly did I make my feelings clear?" I cried back. "I wasn't aware we had a therapy session back there—"

"The look on your face said it all," he said, his mouth twisting bitterly. He kept staring straight ahead, refusing to look at me, and his arm seemed to strain away from my grasp. I held on tighter, scowling.

And then he let out a breath, and the tension seemed to leave his body with it. "I was stupid," he said in a softer voice. "I shouldn't have…done that. I deluded myself into thinking…" He stopped, shaking his head.

"Thinking what?" I wasn't ready to calm down yet. My voice was still loud, attracting the attention of the people passing us on the sidewalk, but I didn't care. The only way to get what I wanted right now was to be persistent, obnoxious, and stubborn.

"That you were just like other girls." He tipped his head back to look at the gray sky. "I was way off on that one." He sounded weary, as if the realization had taken a lot out of him.

I was so surprised I almost released my grip on his arm. Then I tightened it. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means," he said, spinning around so abruptly that I automatically tried to back a step away, though the fingers wrapped around his wrist stopped my progress, "that you're like no one I've ever met, Clary."

"I'll take that as a compliment," I said, and then I did what I'd been dying to do all day—I yanked him toward me and kissed him full on the mouth, in front of all the bystanders.

At first I felt him freeze with shock. Then his mouth softened under mine, his arms came around me, and he kissed me back, heedless of our audience.

I opened my eyes to look at him, to take in the fact that I was kissing Jace Wayland and he was kissing me, that we were enjoying it, that I felt like I was soaring above the clouds and over the moon; then my eyes shifted past him and landed on one person in particular.

Sebastian stood off to the side, his eyes dark and furious and fixed right on me, and I felt like my heart had just dropped through the soles of my feet. Then he turned and walked abruptly away, and I felt a hard stab of dread.

Jace pulled away first, his breath labored. He stared at me with a look of wonder that sent my stomach cartwheeling. "Why did you…"

"You're an idiot," I told him. I stepped away from him and folded my arms. "I just wanted to settle the score. You got to kiss me and totally freak me the hell out, so I thought I'd return the favor."

His mouth started to curl into a smile. "So you did like it," he said.

Every part of me tingled electrically, but I tried to put on a casual face. "Liked what?"

"The kiss. I thought it looked like you were going to hurl afterwards," he said, his smile broadening into a grin.

"I was," I answered matter-of-factly. "I just wanted to get my revenge. If you could see how awful it is getting kissed out of nowhere, then maybe you wouldn't do it so often."

"I thought it was quite the opposite of awful, actually," he said, taking a step closer.

I met his eyes and my next witty response died on my tongue. His gaze dropped to my lips and I felt like I'd just missed a step going downstairs. "Uh, maybe we shouldn't do this here," I said, casting a glance around as it dawned on me for the first time that we weren't all that far away from the school, and who knew who had seen what had just happened?

I knew exactly who had.

Sebastian.

All the little butterflies flitting around my stomach withered, replaced with a sour feeling of dismay. The look on Sebastian's face…of course I wasn't surprised that he was angry. Why shouldn't he be? I'd rejected him just days ago, told him I didn't want to kiss him, and then he'd stumbled upon me making out with his best friend. It was like I'd slapped him in the face.

Even though I no longer trusted him like I had, even though my initial wish was to avoid him, I knew I'd have to talk to him about this. I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I never tried to make things right with him.

"Worried about your reputation, Gingerbread?" Jace said mockingly, reaching out and tugging on a strand of my hair.

"Worried about yours, more like," I said dryly. "What will people say when they hear you…did stuff…with someone like me?"

"Did stuff?" he repeated, smirking. "I never thought I'd get to see your poetic side."

I knocked my foot against his ankle in a light kick. "Shut up."

"I don't really care who finds out," said Jace with a shrug, and I had to stop myself from grinning like an idiot. "Who cares what people think of you in high school, anyway?"

"Try everyone?" I suggested.

But even as I smiled at him, even as some of the butterflies revived themselves and urged me to realize the monumental event that had just occurred, I couldn't shake the shadow that had fallen over me as I remembered Sebastian's expression. No matter what kind of polite front he had, there was something inside of him that was capable of doing bad things, and I might have just called down his wrath.

* * *

That afternoon, as I worked my shift at the diner, I got a text from Simon. I was retrieving the check for a table when I noticed my phone lying on the counter, the light blinking green with a new message. I read the text and felt as if the high I'd been riding since kissing Jace had just deflated.

_Have u asked him yet?_

I'd been too busy daydreaming about how his lips had tasted to ask him about the party. I was a little irritated that Simon would keep bugging me about it; why did I have to rush it? But then I realized that maybe he wanted me to hurry up and get it over with so that we could get back to being friends. Neither Simon nor I had many friends outside of each other—or any, really—and even these few short days apart had been unbearable for both of us.

I texted back, _Haven't found the time yet. Will do it soon, tho. Sorry. _

I waited tensely for his reply, and felt a little sting of sadness when it came in the form of, _Whatever. _

The diner door opened and I glanced over hopefully, and then laughed inwardly at myself. Not too long ago, I'd dreaded 3:30, dreaded seeing Jace and his friends walking through the door. Now? I was literally watching the clock, counting down the minutes, waiting for him to show up.

And show up he did. I couldn't keep back a little grin as he was the first to walk in the door. His eyes found me at once and he smiled, winking surreptitiously at me.

My smile dropped away, however, when Aline walked in after him, instantly attaching herself to his arm when there was enough room to do so.

I turned away quickly, feeling my face burn. Either she was a persistent girl, or Jace wasn't as jazzed about the moment we'd shared as I was.

When I risked another glance at their table, there was one absence that was glaringly obvious. Sebastian was nowhere to be found. I felt a chill of foreboding at this. Sebastian was never gone from the group. He must have been too angry to come.

I couldn't bring myself to look at Jace as I took their orders. Refraining from looking at him didn't keep me from hearing Aline's voice, though, as she chattered on and on to him about things that couldn't possibly matter. I listened hard for his responses, but I never caught one. Either he was being incredibly quiet, a first for him, or he wasn't answering at all. I viciously hoped it was the latter.

After they'd chugged their smoothies and hung around for a good long time, I saw the group start to get up out of the corner of my eye. I felt a strong tug of disappointment. I'd been expecting today to be different. After what had happened, and after what Jace had said about not caring who knew what had gone on between us, I'd thought he would give me some sort of acknowledgement. He hadn't even talked to me. And he was still wearing Aline like an ugly fur coat.

"You coming?" I heard someone say.

"Nah," Jace's voice, highly distinguishable to me, replied. "We're going to stick around a few more minutes. Catch up with you guys later, okay?"

I peeked at them through the curtain of my hair, trying to be stealthy. Everyone was filing out the front door—everyone but Jace and Aline, that is.

"You want some alone time, huh?" I heard Aline say, not bothering to keep her seductive voice on low volume. She probably wanted everyone in the diner to know about her trophy boyfriend. "You read my mind."

"Actually, I have to talk to you about something," Jace said coolly, and to my surprise and secret pleasure, he slid away from her along the booth, putting a good space of distance between them. Aline seemed unperturbed by this.

"Go ahead," she said, smoothing her hair over one shoulder and giving him an annoyingly smoky look.

"I don't know if you're aware of this," he began, "but we aren't going out."

Her smoky look turned to one of confusion. "Sorry?"

"You seem to have the wrong idea about us," he said patiently. "We were never together. You just like to try to hold my hand and breathe loudly in my ear. There's a difference."

"I don't understand." She looked so helpless that I almost felt sorry for her. But not really.

"It's not that complicated," he said, leaning back in his seat. "I told you ages ago that I'm not really interested. You chose to ignore me."

"What about those times we made out?" she protested, sounding scandalized. "How can you say we weren't _together _then?"

I felt myself go tense, and I tried to loosen up again, without success.

"The only time we made out was at the party, when I was stone-hard drunk," he told her. "I don't even remember it, but Sebastian claims it happened, so I guess I'll take his word for it."

"So you're breaking up with me?" Aline's face was now starting to contort with anger as she started to truly grasp what was going on.

"Can't break up with someone you were never actually going out with," he pointed out, sounding a little weary.

Aline launched into a long speech about how used she felt, which quickly turned into a plead for her case. I didn't want to hear it. I caught Jace's eye and made a face; he hid a smile, propping his chin on his hand and pretending to look intently at Aline, though I could tell by his eyes that he wasn't really listening.

I headed into the back of the diner, trying to decide how I felt about what had just gone on. Had Jace done that whole thing with Aline just now for my benefit? To show me that he was serious?

I wasn't sure what it meant, but I had to admit, I kind of enjoyed it.

"Clary," said Mona, making me jump practically out of my skin. She gave me a scornful look. "Jeez, edgy much? The garbage is full."

All triumph that I had been feeling prior to this moment evaporated. "Can't…you do that?" I said, imagining the alley behind the diner as the sun set, casting shadows over a scene that was all too familiar to me. "After what happened before…"

"Come on, Clary. Don't be a baby," she said. "It's not like it's going to happen twice, right? Just man up and do it." She stormed away, clearly in one of her moods. I knew there was no point in arguing with her.

I wished Simon were here. He would come out with me if I asked him to; he would lighten up the darkness with corny jokes and stories about his online gaming. But he wasn't exactly happy with me at the moment.

I grabbed the overflowing trash bag and hauled it out the back door. The instant I set foot in the darkening alley, I felt a cold sweat break out across the back of my neck. I was tempted to turn right around and go back inside. A thought occurred to me—if I were to ask Jace to come with me, would he?

I quickly banished the idea. I didn't need to cower behind someone else to be able to handle taking out the garbage. Mona was right, annoying as she was; what were the odds that the same thing would happen twice?

That didn't make me feel very reassured as I headed toward the dreaded Dumpster near the mouth of the alley. I was afraid I was going to start having flashbacks if I lingered for much longer. I flung the trash in and turned quickly toward the door, eager to get out of there.

"Clary."

I have to admit, I screamed. It wasn't a bloodcurdling shriek or anything, more a hoarse little yelp that could not be held back. I whirled around, ready to start throwing punches. The light hadn't totally faded, and with the help of the constant illumination of New York City, I could see exactly who stood in the mouth of the alley.

Sebastian stood looking as calm as can be, his hands in his pockets, his posture relaxed. But I could see something in his eyes, a hard gleam that hadn't been there before.

"You scared me," I said, holding a hand to my racing heart. "What are you doing back here?"

"I have to talk to you." He took a step nearer, and I fought the instinct to back away from his approach.

"About what?" I said warily. "You already talked to me the other day. You said what you had to."

He gave me a long look. "You're afraid of me," he said softly. "Because of what I said about Alec."

"I'm not scared," I said bravely. "Maybe a little…uneasy, is all. I mean, can you blame me, Sebastian? You told me that Alec knows you did something awful, and you have to blackmail him to keep him quiet. That's not normal."

"I didn't come here to talk about Alec," said Sebastian, shaking his head impatiently. "Or me. Not really. This is about you. And Jace." He paused, gauging my reaction.

I was instantly on the defensive. "Look, that's really not any of your business," I said, fixing him with a glare. "I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings. But you and Jace are two very different people. I don't feel that way…the way I do about Jace…for you. I'm sorry, but I can't control the way I feel."

For a moment I thought I saw fury flash in his eyes, but then his expression cooled once again. "I told you, this isn't about me," he said in a rather cold voice. There was a long silence in which I considered heading toward the door and shutting him out here. I didn't want to see his face anymore. Whatever compassion I'd felt earlier for his situation had totally vanished.

"Ask me a question," he said suddenly.

I stared. "What?"

"Ask me _the _question," he said quietly. "The question your friend Simon keeps telling you to ask Jace. The question you're too afraid to ask him."

I felt my hands clench into fists at my sides. "How do you know about that?" I whispered.

Sebastian cocked his head to one side. "Simon told me," he said. He offered no other explanation, and I instantly doubted what he'd said. "I know you, Clary. Better than you might think I do. And I know that you aren't going to ask Jace what happened at that party."

I felt as if the temperature had dropped a good ten degrees. "I'm going to ask him," I said, trying to force ferocity into my tone. "I'll go inside and do it right now."

"You won't," he said with infuriating calm. "You'll chicken out, again and again. So ask me. Wouldn't it be so much easier? I'll tell you the truth. Who's to say he wouldn't lie to you? He would gain nothing from telling you what he was planning to do to you that night."

I closed my eyes and swallowed hard. I shouldn't have to hear this from Sebastian. But what if he was right? What if I really couldn't bring myself to ask Jace? I had to know the truth. And whatever else I believed about Sebastian, I knew he would be honest with me about this.

"What was Jace going to do to me at the party, Sebastian?" I whispered, my voice seeming to fill the entire alley.

I kept my eyes closed as I waited tensely for his reply. He took his time answering, most likely enjoying every second of my torment.

"He was going to kiss you," Sebastian said softly. My eyes flew open and I stared at him, my mind struggling to comprehend what he was saying. Jace was planning on kissing me? What kind of a joke was Sebastian trying to pull? A tiny smile flitted over his mouth as he read my expression.

"He would have charmed you first, of course, in that way of his," he went on. "Made you feel safe. Made you think that all this time, he'd just been cruel to you because he didn't know how else to express his…affections. Then, once he was certain you trusted him, or were drunk enough, whichever came first, he would have brought you into a back room. Done with you what he pleased. And when he was finished, he would have made…well, evidence of what you had done. I never was sure how he was going to do it. Pictures? Videos? He briefly toyed with the idea of simply bringing in a crowd of people to witness your shame. Whatever the means, he would have made sure everyone knew.

"And then," he said, and his voice was so quiet, so dangerously quiet, and his eyes were dark on mine, holding me captive, and I couldn't look away. "He would have finished by doing what Jace does best—he would have broken your heart." He paused, watching me, and I wanted to tell him to stop, to go away, to take back everything he'd just said. But my voice was gone. "He would have told you what he really thought of you. He would have made sure you understood that it had all been a game to him, that _you _were a game. Jace is very good at destroying people, Clary. Very good indeed."

I was distantly aware of my head shaking itself back and forth, back and forth, an unintentional movement.

"You're lying." My voice sounded strangled.

"You think so?" Sebastian's eyes narrowed. "Why don't you go and ask him for yourself?"

"Sebastian? Are you ready to go yet?" an irritated voice said from the mouth of the alley. Still buzzing with shock and disbelief, I turned my head to see Isabelle appear around the corner, looking impatient. "Look, I said I'd drive you home, but I'm not going to—" She broke off as she caught sight of me, her eyes widening in surprise. "Clary?" Her startled gaze went to Sebastian. "What's going on?"

Sebastian never took his eyes away from me. "Nothing," he said calmly. "I think it's time for us to go, Isabelle."

I had reached the door before he'd finished speaking. I shoved it open with more force than was necessary; it banged against the wall, causing Mona to squawk. "Are you nuts?" she snarled, and then faltered when she saw the look on my face.

I walked past her and into the dining area, heading straight for Jace's table. Jace was no longer there; Aline sat alone, crying and texting at the same time.

I slammed my hand on the table, causing her head to snap up. "Where's Jace?" I sounded eerily calm, and I suppose I felt it too; I wasn't prepared to lose it yet.

"He left," she spat. "He ripped my heart out, walked all over it, and then just left."

I knew Aline's hurt was skin deep. She went through a dozen guys a month; she'd get over it. I was in no mood to feel sympathy for her. I leaned close to her, and something in my eyes made her glower flicker.

"Where is he?"

"I don't know where he went." She sniffled, and then took another look at me. Her tears stopped abruptly, and a sneer twisted her face. "So you finally found out."

My fingernails scraped against the table. "Found out what?"

She shook her head. "Sebastian said he was going to tell you, but I didn't think he'd actually go through with it. How humiliating for you."

I grabbed the front of her shirt and she squealed. "_What are you talking about?" _

Even though I was in prime stance for punching her again, she still had the nerve to look spiteful. "The party," she breathed. "He told you what Jace was going to do to you, didn't he? What he's still doing."

I released her, backing away and unconsciously shaking my head. "That's a lie."

"Know what else I said that wasn't a lie?" She tipped her head and smiled knowingly at me. "I was right about your daddy, Clary. Maybe you should trust me on this, too."

I turned and all but ran out the door. The cold air bit into me at once, but I didn't notice it. All I cared about was finding Jace, forcing the truth out of him. Forcing him to tell me that what I'd heard wasn't real. It couldn't be. Please, please don't let it be real.

* * *

_You guys! Holy Schnikeys! Your reviews gave me warm fuzzies and...and I actually got a little choked up! I mean, all this encouragement just fills me with joy. Your support really inspires me to keep on writing, so thank you so much! (Also, some of your reviews cracked me up. Some of you have future careers as comedians, I'm telling ya.) _

_Sorry about the cliffhanger. It was mean of me. But I'll update soon, promise!_

_Thanks so much for reading and reviewing! _


	32. Chapter 32

I had no idea which direction Jace had gone, whether he'd taken a taxi or gone on foot, what his destination was. It didn't matter. I just had to keep walking. My breath puffed out in a cloud in front of me, a testament to the cold air, but I barely noticed.

I could hardly see where I was going. Was it tears blurring my vision, or was I just too dazed to see clearly? I couldn't be sure. I stumbled countless times over the sidewalk. Some people gave me looks as I passed them, like they were afraid I was unstable or something. Maybe I was.

I was passing by a tiny coffee shop when I heard it. Floating through the open door, Jace's laugh, impossible to mistake. It wasn't too far from the diner; he hadn't had time to get far. I stopped and stared inside the cheerfully lit café.

There he was, standing with one of his friends from school. Jace had his hand on the other guy's shoulder, and he was laughing at something he'd said. We'd always been good at finding each other, Jace and I. Always somehow known where the other was, even when we only sought each other out in order to inflict pain. Now, I wished he would disappear. I wished we both would.

Before I knew what I was doing, I had walked into the coffee shop. I stood just inside the doorway for a moment, my breathing coming fast and hard. No one noticed me at first; I was just another customer to them.

"Is it true?" I said, my voice coming out too loud in the small space. Everyone turned their heads to look at me. When Jace recognized me, his eyes widened fractionally. I must have looked crazy in that moment, face white, cheeks pink from the cold, hair a mess, eyes wild.

"Clary?" He stepped toward me, his hand reaching for me. "What's wrong? Are you all right?"

"You need to tell me the truth," I said, my voice shaking.

He paused a foot away from me, hand still outstretched but not touching me. "Of course," he said at last.

"Were you going to do those awful things to me at Isabelle's party?" I whispered. Everyone was listening, but I didn't care. Jace's friend looked back and forth between us, a look that was half disbelieving, half delighted showing on his face. "Were you going to make me think I liked you, and then tell everyone about the pathetic loser that fell in love with you? Were you going to take _advantage _of me?"

Jace could only look at me, stunned. He opened his mouth, but for once he was speechless.

"Please tell me it isn't true," I choked.

Jace closed his eyes and then slowly, slowly opened them again. "Clary," he began, and his voice was low and tight. "Please give me a chance to explain."

"Just tell me if it's true."

The pause seemed to last a million lifetimes. When he broke it, I wished it had lasted a million more. "Yes," he said, his eyes on my face. "It's true."

I shook my head and pressed my hand to my mouth, keeping any involuntary sounds from escaping.

"But Clary," he said, closing the distance between us, his hands grasping my arms. "You have to let me explain—"

"Is that what you're doing now?" I asked, and my voice came out strangely flat. "Have you been leading me on all along?"

The anguish in his eyes was almost enough to make me want to fall into his arms and let the rest of the world vanish. But I couldn't do it. I couldn't forget that he'd planned on taking advantage of me, and then revealing it to the world. What kind of person did that?

Not the sort of person I'd thought he was. And if he was still doing it now, still charming me into believing that he cared about me, then he really hadn't changed at all.

"No," he said, and now he sounded hard and fierce. "I gave up on that idea after the party. It was stupid and childish, and I've regretted even thinking about it ever since. I'm so sorry, Clary."

There he went, apologizing again. That was twice now. Tears blurred my vision, distorting his face in front of me. I tried to blink them away, but the movement of my eyelids only made a tear escape. It slid in a hot trail down my cheek; I felt it drip off my chin. Jace's eyes followed its progress, and then he closed them, the crease between his eyebrows betraying his distress.

"Clary," he whispered, and that was all I could take.

I jerked out of his grip and backed away from him. I took him in, the way he looked in the bright light of the café; the shadows under his eyes, the way he still stood rigidly, as if his wound hurt him; the gleam of his hair, the shape of his jaw. He was too beautiful. I should have known that he could never be mine.

I didn't know what else to do. So I ran.

* * *

I didn't know where I was going. I knew perfectly well that wandering aimlessly around New York City, especially in the state I was in, was not a smart idea. But at the same time, I couldn't bring myself to care.

I handed full power over to my feet, and let them carry me where they would. It was easier that way. Now, I could turn off my brain and just stop thinking. I could pretend that today hadn't happened, that I hadn't had my first kiss and my first broken heart within hours of each other.

The urge to cry had gone away. I walked down the streets of New York with dry eyes and a strange, numb feeling in my chest. I had gotten good at turning off my head. I could usually go into autopilot with ease, forget about all the problems and worries, and just exist for a little while. But tonight, I couldn't do it. I couldn't get his face out of my mind.

I'd never liked someone the way I liked Jace. I'd never hated like I'd hated him, either. Maybe it was the combination of those two emotions that made it hurt so much. I shouldn't be feeling so much for one person, so many complicated emotions that contrasted so harshly against each other. My heart couldn't take it. I refused to believe that it was because my feelings went deeper than just "liking" him, because the thought of that terrified me.

When I finally took the time to figure out where I was, I was surprised at how far I'd come. The sky was completely dark now; I'd been walking a long time. I tipped my head back and gazed upward, wishing suddenly to see the stars like I'd been able to see them in Colorado. From where I was, I couldn't see anything but a few blinking airplanes.

It was only with dim interest that I realized I was only a few blocks away from Simon's apartment. I wasn't sure if I wanted to see him now; what if he just turned me away when he found me at his door? But my feet turned me in the direction they wanted to go, and I let them bring me to Simon's street.

His place loomed in front of me, dark except for a few windows that still blazed with light. I stood on the sidewalk and stared at the building. I didn't approach the door; I just stood there.

I don't know exactly how long I stared at Simon's apartment. It wasn't one of my proudest moments; I must have looked like a lunatic. But I had checked out by that point, and summoning the energy to climb the four stairs that led up to the front door seemed utterly impossible.

I watched as a shadow passed in front of the light glaring out of Simon's window. The shadow passed by several times, and then paused once. It darted out of view again, and I continued to stare at the square of yellow light even when I heard the door to the apartment open.

Simon's shoes slapped the concrete as he ran down the stairs and over to my side. "Clary?" he said, his voice full of shock. "What are you doing out here? Are you nuts? How long have you been standing here?" He paused, as if expecting an answer. It didn't come. "Clary?"

I turned my head to look at him, and suddenly the tears were back.

The anger in his eyes faded away as he took in my expression. "You asked," he said quietly.

I nodded. I wasn't sure I'd be able to speak.

He didn't ask me anything else. He just put his arm around my shoulders and led me into the building.

* * *

"Here." Simon handed me the steaming mug of hot cocoa. I took it from him with fingers numb from the cold. The heat made them burn, but I welcomed the slight pain. I stared down into the chocolaty brown liquid, the steam warming my face.

Simon sat down beside me on the floor of his bedroom. My back was leaned against his bed, one of his blankets thrown around my shoulders. My knees were pulled up to my chest, and I felt small and vulnerable.

Simon hadn't asked me any questions. He'd simply led me up to his apartment, guiding me into his room as he murmured that his mom was out at a dinner party tonight. He had sat me gently down on his bed; I had sat there and waited for him as I heard him banging around in the kitchen. Somehow, I'd ended up on the floor, and when he came back he had draped the blanket around me and stood looking down at me for a moment before leaving the room again.

"Thanks, Simon," I whispered now, clutching the steaming mug as if it could secure me to the earth. "I'm sorry I scared you like that."

"Damn straight," he said, but he didn't sound angry. He shook his head. "What were you thinking, Clary? How long were you wandering around like that?"

I didn't answer. I couldn't think of anything to say that wouldn't just make things worse.

He sighed, a low, weary sound. "I guess I can't really be mad at you. This is my fault, after all."

I groaned before he even finished his sentence. "No, Simon. Don't even think about blaming yourself for this. You always try to take the guilt away from me, and I don't deserve it. This, all of this, is my fault. I was stupid, and I brought this on myself."

"If I hadn't made you ask him about the party," he said in a low voice, "if I hadn't forced you to do something you didn't want to do—"

"If you hadn't, I would have found out some other way," I interrupted. "But it would have been later. I would have been in too deep to get out. And it would have hurt a lot more." I went quiet for a moment, gently swirling the contents of my mug. "I think I must have known deep down that when I asked, it would put an end to the stupid little dream I was living in," I said. "That's why I didn't want to do it. I wanted to live in the fairytale just a little while longer." I shut my eyes and drew in a shaky breath.

"Clary." Simon's arm came around my shoulders, pulling me against him. I leaned my head on him, biting my lip hard to keep more tears from spilling over. Neither of us said anything for a while. But I should have known that the silence couldn't last forever. "You can talk to me about it, you know," he said softly. "You can always talk to me about it."

"I know," I said, but this was one thing I knew I couldn't talk to him about. I wasn't sure what would be worse, my own humiliation or Simon's rage on my behalf when he heard. I didn't want him to rant and rage against Jace. I didn't want him to offer to go and beat him up, an unrealistic offer to begin with, to avenge my honor or something like that. I just wanted to forget Jace, to pretend like he'd never happened. To pretend like I'd never felt anything other than indifference toward him.

I felt Simon sigh against me as he recognized my reluctance to confide in him. The thing about Simon is, you can tell him anything, or you can tell him nothing, and he won't complain.

I'd thought it before, and I'd think it again. I didn't deserve a friend like him.

"But it hurts, Simon," I whispered, because suddenly I had to tell him something. Pushing him away had done nothing but hurt our friendship. If I couldn't bring myself to tell him the exact details of what Jace had planned for that night, I could at least tell him how I felt. That was how we operated. "I deluded myself into thinking that he actually cared about me. That's probably the worst part, that I let myself get tricked."

At first he didn't respond. When he did, it was to say, "Drink your cocoa. It's getting cold."

I obediently sipped my drink, even though it tasted like nothing to me.

"As much as I hate to say it, Clary," he said slowly, "I don't think you were deluding yourself. The guy's an ass, but the way he looked at you…" His arm tightened unconsciously around me, like an absent, protective instinct. "It's hard to fake that sort of feeling. Especially when I caught him staring when you weren't even looking at him. Either he was so into his little scheme that he was playing the part even when you weren't around, or his feelings were real."

"Don't give me false hope."

"I'm not. I'm telling it like it is. Or do you want me to agree with you and say that he's a lying douchebag? Because I can work with that, too."

I smiled, though it was quick and slid away almost immediately. "Have you ever had your heart broken?" I asked him.

I felt him exhale. "Yes," he admitted.

"How long did it hurt?"

"It still hurts," he said. "I know she'll never feel for me the way I feel about her."

"You don't know that," I argued, indignant. "You're a wonderful guy, Simon. If she doesn't realize that, then she's an idiot."

"Funny you should say that," he said, a note of dryness in his voice.

I twisted so that I could look into his face. He was staring at me, and there was sadness in his brown eyes. It took me another five seconds to understand.

I sat up, looking at him, my mouth popping open in surprise. "Simon?"

"You really are an idiot," he said with a slightly breathless laugh.

I was completely and utterly at a loss for words. My head reeled with shock. Simon liked _me? _"But Isabelle," I sputtered. "You always seemed like…"

"You can't have an authentic crush on someone you barely even know," he said, his voice quiet. "Besides, ever since I met you, it's been hard to notice any other girls." He shook his head and dropped his eyes, his face starting to turn red.

I thought about all the times we'd been together, when he'd allowed me to cry on his shoulder, when he'd let me unburden myself to him and never showed anything but concern and interest. All of those times, he had been feeling something other than friendship, maybe hoping that I would eventually return those feelings. I hated to imagine how he felt when, time and time again, I disappointed him.

"Simon…" I began, but I trailed off, unsure of how to proceed.

"It's all right. I've seen you look at him." One side of Simon's mouth tugged up ruefully. "I just wanted you to know. I've seen too many movies about how the guy chickens out and never tells the girl how he feels, and it always ends up badly for him."

My throat felt dry. I had to clear it before I could speak. "What do you mean, you've seen the way I look at him?"

"Jace," he clarified. He gave me a stern look. "And if you haven't figured out that you've got it bad for him by now, you're even more of an idiot than I initially thought."

I felt like the ground had disappeared beneath my feet, as if the foundation of everything I knew and trusted had fallen away abruptly, leaving me freefalling in empty space. "It doesn't matter," I said, my voice coming out mechanical. "All he ever wanted was to hurt me."

"Do you honestly believe that?" Simon said, startling me. "Do you really think that everything he's ever said to you has been a ruse?"

"Are you defending him?" I asked incredulously.

"I'm defending your happiness," he said with a small sigh. "Look, Clary. It would be a lot more fun for me if I could egg you on and encourage you to think of Jace as the villain, but it would also be wrong. Because, hell, I've seen the way he looks at you, too. And, like I said before, it's hard to fake that kind of thing."

"Maybe Jace is a good actor," I murmured, clutching my mug to my chest.

"Or maybe he's not," Simon said.

"Why didn't you tell me?" I said, meeting his eyes. "How you felt?"

Simon shrugged. "I guess I was scared," he said. "Scared that you'd laugh, or reject me. I think I contracted some sort of friendzone-phobia. But that stuff doesn't matter now. I'm still young and stupid, but not as young and stupid as I used to be. And I'm smart enough to know that your happiness is the important thing here."

I was already shaking my head. "What about your happiness?" I whispered.

He tried to smile, but it wavered. "I'll find it," he said. "No, scratch that. I already have it." He put his arm around me again, pulling me firmly against his shoulder and leaving no room for me to pull away. He leaned his cheek on the top of my head, and I allowed myself to relax against him.

"You know what?" he said. "Maybe you should just forget I said anything."

"Not a chance," I said, smiling slightly. He muttered something unintelligible under his breath, and then were both quiet for a while, lost in our own thoughts.

"I love you, Simon," I said suddenly.

I felt him inhale against me. "Love you, too, Clary," he answered softly.

I sat up again, letting his arm fall limply against the carpet. I knelt in front of him and took his face in my hands. I searched his eyes for a moment, and saw surprise in them, wariness, and beneath it all, painful hope.

I leaned forward and pressed my lips lightly against his.

The kiss didn't last for more than a few seconds. When I pulled away, Simon kept his eyes closed, pressing his lips together like he was trying to savor it. When he looked at me again, I was smiling crookedly at him. "Well?" I said. "Was it everything you dreamed it would be and more?"

"Actually," he said, smacking his lips thoughtfully, "it kind of fell flat for me."

My mouth fell open. "Excuse me?"

"Yeah," he said, nodding. "I was expecting fireworks. But it was just kind of…a kiss, you know?"

I smacked his arm, but I had to admit that I agreed. My thoughts flew to another kiss, in a cramped janitor's closet, with another boy. The heat and passion that overtook us, the surging feeling of excitement and joy in my chest. Like Simon had said, that had been like fireworks.

I viciously shoved the memory away. It wasn't real. None of it was.

Simon's eyes were soft when he looked at me. He reached out and tucked a strand of my hair behind my ear.

"So now what?" I said.

"Now we keep being friends," he answered promptly. "No weirdness between us whatsoever. Got that? I forbid it. You just forget that I'm secretly lusting after you."

I grimaced. "Hard to do when you put it like that."

"Right. Sorry." He grinned at me, and I was relieved that the earlier sadness had gone from his face. "But really, Clary. No hard feelings. I understand that there's someone else for you. And hopefully there's someone else for me."

"I know there is," I said, reaching out and touching his arm with my fingertips. I smiled at him. "Thank you, Simon."

"For what?"

"For distracting me. For making me feel better." My voice softened. "For loving me."

He smiled back. "Thanks for loving me back. Even if it is too friendly for me." He winked, and I laughed, though inside I felt a mixture of guilt and sorrow. Why couldn't I feel toward Simon the way I felt toward Jace? Everything would be so much easier. We would be happy together, and it would be simple and effortless and perfect.

But I didn't feel that way, and no matter how hard I tried to force myself, I knew that I wouldn't.

"Although," said Simon, and he gave me a look that could be defined only as sheepish, "you might not love me so much in a few minutes."

"What?" I said, confused, and then the sound of someone buzzing up to the apartment made me jump. Simon flinched, and the look of guilt on his face instantly made me suspicious. "Simon?" I said as he leaped to his feet and hurried toward the door. "What's going on? Who is that?"

"Stay there," he said over his shoulder. "I'll…be right back."

"Simon!" I hissed, but he had already fled the room. I scrambled to my feet, letting the blanket around my shoulders slip to the ground, and charged after him.

I was in time to see him open the door for someone, someone blocked from view by Simon's tall frame.

"Thanks for coming," said Simon, seemingly caught between hostility and awkwardness.

"Thanks for calling," the other responded, and I froze.

"Simon," I said slowly, and he stepped to the side, his face the picture of shame.

"Sorry, Clary," he said. "Just keep in mind that I'm doing this for you, please."

Jace stepped into Simon's apartment, his eyes locking with mine.

I was so going to murder Simon for this.

I've always known that whatever Simon does, no matter how strange or risky, he has the best interests of those around him in mind. Especially when it comes to me. He's always watched over me with a protectiveness that borders on silly sometimes.

But this? This was not looking out for me. This was cruel.

I knew this was Simon's doing. The guilty expression on his face, and the fact that he had allowed Jace Wayland entry into his home, told me that much. But the mystery was, why? Why did he want to inflict this kind of pain on me?

Jace stood there looking at me, as if waiting for me to speak first. He looked disheveled, his golden hair slightly windswept. The cold air had bitten color into his cheeks, and he looked so alive, so very real, that I wanted to close the distance between us, put my arms around him, and let him hold me.

The way he was looking at me, in a way that I couldn't even begin to describe, sent sharp stabs of pain through me, like needles piercing my heart.

I turned and walked out of the room. I made a beeline for Simon's bedroom; once there, I snatched my coat from where it was draped over his bed, shoving my arms so forcefully into it that I very nearly tore the fabric.

"Clary," Jace's voice said, quiet, painful. I wished I could block out sounds at will. That would be a useful skill to have.

I ignored him, refusing to look at him from where he was standing at the threshold of Simon's room. I busied myself with checking my pocket for my phone, hoping he'd get the message and go away so that I wouldn't have to push past him to get out the door. The idea of coming into contact with him, even fleetingly, was unbearable.

"_Clary," _he said, and now his voice was sharper. I looked up at him automatically. He stood alone, which was surprising. I'd expected to see Simon hovering over his shoulder, taking in every detail. But he had, miraculously, left us alone. For once, he wasn't doing me a favor by leaving me alone with Jace.

I forced myself to approach him, stopping right in front of him and raising my eyes to his. "Excuse me," I said coldly.

But he only reached out and braced both hands on either side of the door, blocking my path completely. I tried to duck under his arm, but he moved his body to stop me.

"You aren't going anywhere," he said, "until we talk."

"We did talk," I snapped back, looking anywhere but at his face now. Why did he have to smell so good? Why did being near him have to send my stomach into dizzying loop-de-loops, make my heart pound, my blood sing with excitement? Those reactions were all wrong. I wasn't supposed to feel them anymore. They hadn't been real.

"Actually, you shouted at me," he answered. "I just stood there and took it."

"Shut up, Jace," I said angrily. "I don't want to hear your stupid jokes. I don't want to hear anything you have to say, in fact. Just let me pass."

He shook his head, his jaw clenched stubbornly. "You're going to give me the chance to explain," he nearly growled. "And I'm not letting you out of my sight until you understand."

"Whatever." I tried to push past him again, but his hand came down and clamped around my wrist in an iron grip. I tugged against him, but of course, his hold didn't even waver. I scowled at him, but he just kept up that level gaze. "Let go of me!"

"You shall not pass," he said, cracking a tense smirk.

I glowered, and he sighed. "Agree to let me explain," he said. "Then I'll let you go. I'm not even saying that you have to forgive me, or even speak to me after this. I just want the chance to tell you the truth."

"You told me the truth," I said, glaring at the floor and letting my hair come forward to hide my face.

"I told you the basics. But you obviously took it out of context, hence the running blindly through the streets of New York City."

"I didn't run blindly," I protested stiffly. "I came here, didn't I?"

Jace didn't acknowledge my words. "Let me explain," he said, more insistently still.

I couldn't deny the fact that I was longing to hear him out, to let him plead his case, to give him the chance to tell me that I was wrong about him. That he really did have feelings for me.

"Why are you here?" I asked, still staring at the floor. "How did you know I was at Simon's?"

"He called me," Jace said, and I snorted, silently renewing my vow of vengeance against Simon. "He said that you showed up at his apartment, a total wreck—" He broke off and took a deep breath, and I peeked up at him to see why he'd stopped. The look on his face, the regret and shame and pain, almost took my breath away. He started again, his fingers curling and uncurling in a restless gesture. "He specifically said that he hated my guts, but if it would help you, he wanted me to come."

I could hardly comprehend what he was saying. Why had Simon called him? Hadn't he realized that I was a wreck _because _of Jace, that he'd planned on doing something awful to me just like Simon had always thought?

There were times when I didn't think I would ever understand the workings of Simon's mind.

"Okay," I heard myself say, as if someone else had slipped into my body and was speaking for me. "I want to hear the whole story."

Pure relief flickered through Jace's eyes, and his lips twitched like he was holding back a triumphant smile. A part of me was angry that I'd let him win this argument; old habits die hard, I guess.

"Come on," he said, offering me his hand. "We can go somewhere and talk about it."

I eyed his hand balefully and he withdrew it with a sigh. "Right. Too soon," he muttered, turning so that I could sweep past him into the hall.

Simon was waiting for us by the front door. He looked strangely small and lost in his own home, his dark eyes watching us from behind his glasses. I thought about what he'd said to me tonight, the things he'd admitted. I thought about our kiss. How must it feel right now, to see the person he liked go off with another boy? How hard had it been for him to put aside his own wishes and call Jace?

I went to him and threw my arms around him. I wanted to be angry with him for contacting Jace without consulting me, but I wanted to erase the loneliness that seemed to hang around him. I pulled Simon down so that I could speak into his ear. "I am going to murder you slowly," I told him, and then I released him and stepped back.

Simon pushed his glasses up his nose, his mouth twisting ruefully to the side. "I saw that one coming," he said.

"Are you going to be okay?" I tried to hold his gaze, but he was looking past me, at Jace.

"I'll be fine, as long as I know Wayland's going to behave himself," he growled, putting on his best vicious glare.

Jace strode past Simon toward the door, clapping a hand to his shoulder as he went. "I won't put a toe out of line. You don't have to worry about a thing, Lyman," he said, taking me by the shoulders and ushering me out the door in front of him.

We had time to hear Simon shout back, "It's _Simon_!" before the door swung shut behind us.

* * *

"Taki's?" I stared up at the small diner as a slightly sick feeling seeped into my stomach.

"You know it?" Jace raised an eyebrow at me. The ride over had been tense; I had squished myself against the door of the car, putting as much space between us as I could, and stared pointedly out the window, though I didn't see any of the scenery as we passed it. All I could concentrate on was Jace; the sound of his breathing a few inches away from me, his delicious scent as it filled the taxi cab, the way he had pleaded with me to hear him out.

Why was it so important to him to explain this to me? He wouldn't do it just for the sake of trying to keep the ruse up, would he? He had to actually care what I thought…at least, that's what I was hoping for…

"Sebastian took me here once," I said, fighting the urge to turn around and walk in the other direction. The diner itself had been pleasant enough, but I couldn't erase the association with Sebastian. I could still picture the flat look in his eyes when he told me he thought Magnus Bane had been the one to harm Jace. How he'd tried to take advantage of my situation to further his sway over Alec.

"Sebastian took you here?" Was I imagining the sudden sharp edge to Jace's voice? I glanced at him sidelong, to see that he was staring up at the diner with his jaw clenched.

I opened my mouth to ask him why he looked so thunderous all of a sudden, but he took my arm and half dragged me into the small building before I got the chance. I shrugged his hand off the minute we were inside, stepping away to remove our close proximity.

He led the way to a booth—I was thankful that it wasn't the one I'd sat in with Sebastian. We slid in across from each other, and I was struck by how familiar this seemed, and yet how different. The boy across from me, lit with golden light, a single look from him able to send my stomach sputtering with butterflies, was the one I had been thinking about the last time I'd been here. Not the white-haired boy who had tried to manipulate me.

But then, hadn't Jace tried to manipulate me too? I wasn't sure what to think anymore. I leaned back in the booth and folded my arms, fixing him with a look I hoped seemed cool and collected, even though I was roiling on the inside. "Go on, then," I said in my best offhand voice.

Jace looked agitated, his hands twined together on the table top. "You might remember that we didn't used to be the best of friends." He gave me a dry look, and for a moment I was tempted to smile. I quickly suppressed the temptation and continued looking coldly at him. "I liked to antagonize you. Coming up with new ways to bug you was kind of a hobby of mine."

"Still is," I couldn't resist muttering, and he smiled wryly.

"Maybe so. But back then, I did it because I wanted to hurt you. I don't even remember why I hated you in the first place, really. You didn't do anything to me. But I was stupid and immature when I first met you, even more so than I am now, and there was something about you that rubbed me the wrong way."

Despite myself, I was hanging on his every word. I'd never heard his side of the story before, never known why he'd decided to single me out like he did.

"I think we both know that I have a fairly big ego," he said with a self-deprecating twist of his lips. "And when you poured coffee on my head, something in me…snapped. I was furious. Everyone talked about it at school, and they looked at me like…"

"Like you were a loser?" I said. His eyes came up to meet mine and I held them. "I know the feeling," I added evenly, and his eyes darkened.

"I couldn't stand the idea that you might have won, even once," he said. I noticed that his knuckles were white as he clenched them into fists, like he was channeling all of his tension into that one small part of his body. "So I came up with the plan to invite you to the party." His lips thinned, and I knew we were getting to the part he didn't particularly want to discuss. I leaned toward him and gave him a mock interested look, to show him that there was no way I was letting him get out of this.

"I assume you've been told the story."

"Tell me again," I said sweetly. "I do love stories."

He glared at me, then seemed to remember that out of the two of us, I was the one with the right to be angry. He dropped his eyes, and I could practically feel his frustration pulsating across the table. "I was going to sweet talk you," he said, the words coming in a rush as if he couldn't wait to get them over with. "Ask you to dance, buy you a drink or two. I would have led you on until you trusted me, and then I would have…" He shook his head in disgust. "I would have humiliated you."

"That seems to be a special skill of yours," I said coldly, leaning away from him again. "Define 'humiliated.'"

"After I won your trust," he said, his eyes hard as he stared past me, "I would have told you that I hated you. I would have crushed your self-esteem in that way that I have. Because that's who I am. I'm always tearing everyone else down, pushing them away. So, basically, I would have done one of the only things I know how to do: I would have broken your heart."

For a moment, I didn't know what to say. Sebastian had made it sound so much worse. He'd made it out to seem like Jace would have taken advantage of me, gotten what he wanted, recorded or taken pictures of it, and then spread it around. Had that been a lie on Sebastian's part? Or was Jace just withholding that information? I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt, and remained silent.

"But Clary," he went on, his eyes snapping up to mine, startling me. "You have to believe me when I say that ever since, even the night after the party, I regretted trying to hurt you like that. No one deserves that. Least of all you. But it's taken me this long to see past my own nose and realize that you aren't the person I always pretended you were."

"Then who am I?" I asked, fighting to keep my voice calm.

"You're impossible to hate," he said, lowering his voice. "You're kind, and you put others before yourself. Something I've never been able to do. You're humble, and a brilliant artist. Your smile lights up the room. You're absolutely beautiful."

I stared at him, struck speechless. No one had ever said any of that to me before. And never, in a million years, would I have expected it to come out of Jace Wayland's mouth.

"I think you're exaggerating," I said weakly, but he shook his head impatiently.

"You don't see yourself the way I see you. You're an amazing person, Clary," he said softly, and in that second all I wanted to do was lean right across the table and kiss him.

But I couldn't do that. I wouldn't. I refused to forgive him after a few fancy schmancy words. Who was to say he wasn't still leading me on? What if this was just another part of his game?

And yet, I didn't really believe that he was playing me. As I looked at him, his eyes wide and sincere, pleading with me to forgive him, beneath it all a layer of endearing nervousness as he waited for my response, I felt…warmth. And trust. I trusted Jace. And I really believed that he had changed.

But no way was I letting him get off that easily.

"Well," I said, rising to my feet. Jace looked up at me in surprise. "This was very intriguing. I'll take your thoughts into consideration and get back to you as soon as possible."

I turned and walked away from the table, feeling a little proud of myself. I was stronger than I'd thought. Walking away from Jace after that spiel? That took a lot of willpower. I passed our startled waitress, on her way to take our order, and I marched out the door without another glance back, even though I would have killed to get a look at Jace's expression right then.

I wasn't more than five steps out the door, in the bitingly cold night, when it banged open again, a rush of warm air flowing over me. I turned around automatically, surprised. Jace was standing right there, and his hands came up to grip my shoulders, his head bending low next to mine.

"Get back to me about it now," he said, his breath brushing against my lips. I opened my mouth to answer, but no words came out. His eyes were scorching me like fire, and there was a small smirk playing around his lips, a smirk that used to bug me to no end but now filled me with unfamiliar longing.

"I told you," I managed to stammer out. "I have to think it over."

"I'm not letting you go," he said, his warm fingers tightening on me, "until you give me a straight answer. Either tell me to get lost, or…" He trailed off, his eyes searching mine, fierce and vulnerable at the same time.

I could see it in my head now—stepping away from him, turning my nose up, telling him he'd have to wait and be patient for the verdict. If I did that, I could show him that I wasn't a puddle of sap when it came to his charms. I could show that I had the upper hand.

But of course I couldn't do that. I didn't have that much willpower.

With a groan I closed my eyes. I felt his laugh against me more than I heard it, we were standing so close together; a moment later, his lips touched down on mine, light as a feather.

Having the self-control of an ape, I threw my arms around his neck and pulled him down to my height, crushing my mouth against his. So much for that soft, gentle kiss he'd been going for. He responded at once, his arms winding around my waist and lifting me half off the ground so he could better reach me.

A part of me was dismayed that I'd given in so easily. What ever happened to stubbornness? But the rest of me knew that this was inevitable. Sometimes, you have to forgive in order to move on. Sometimes, that's what love is.

So we stood outside the little café called Taki's, heedless of the people walking by us on the sidewalks, wrapped up in each other's arms against the cold, and I forgave him.

* * *

_Don't feel too bad for Simon, he'll find someone to smother in his romance. I know Jace and Clary weren't fighting for long, but I couldn't stand them to be apart any longer! Also, all those angry-angst-drama scenes are hard to write. By the way, CannibleDuckWithAnAxe4 guessed it: JACE IS SECRETLY ROBERT DOWNEY JR. I know, I was shocked, too._

_Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! _


	33. Chapter 33

When I got home that night, I was surprised when my mom greeted me not with a red-faced explosion of rage, but with a huge grin and a hug. I stood in her arms, frozen with surprise, as her excitement practically vibrated off of her. She then proceeded to tell me that a police officer had been over to say that I wouldn't be subjected to any more interrogations, and that they apologized for any inconveniences we might have suffered. We did a little happy dance right there in the living room.

It was a huge weight off my chest. It seemed like weeks of stress was peeling off me like an extra layer, leaving a new me underneath. It was like my life had done a complete 360. No longer a police suspect, with my relationship with Jace slowly but surely smoothing itself out? Things were looking up.

I smiled all the way to school the next day, smiled like an idiot, and when Simon met me by my locker, I was smiling then, too.

"What are you so happy about?" he said in bemusement, shouldering his backpack and giving me a look that said he feared for my sanity.

"My name's cleared," I said, bouncing a little on the tips of my toes. "No more interrogations. No more police checkups. I'm a free woman."

Simon, who had been a bit subdued prior to this conversation, gaped at me. "He really told the cops?" he said in disbelief. He shook his head. "I have to give him credit. That was big of him to do."

"Finally," I groaned, shoving my sticky locker door closed. "_Finally, _I don't have to worry about being thrown into jail."

"That must be a pleasant change for you," Simon said, and he was beginning to grin now, too. He opened his arms, and I went into them without hesitation. It didn't feel any different, hugging him, than it had before what had gone down between us last night. "I'm happy for you, Clary," he said into my hair, and I felt a strange jolt of sadness, standing there with him.

"Thank you, Simon," I said quietly into his shirt. I didn't know what else to say, how else to express the way I felt, but his arms tightened around me, and I knew he understood.

I pulled back and looked up into his face. "Are you okay?" I asked, hoping he'd know what I meant. Between thinking about what had transpired between Jace and me and what Simon had confessed while we were sitting in his room, my head was crammed full of thoughts and worries, deviously trying to extinguish the giddiness I'd been feeling all morning.

"Yeah," he said, fidgeting. "I'm fine. I…I really just wanted to get it off my chest, you know? I didn't…uh, I didn't expect anything to happen."

That made me even sadder. I didn't want Simon to think that I would never consider him. If Jace hadn't come into the picture, I might have felt a lot differently about the whole situation.

"We should get to class," he said, his cheeks starting to turn red.

"Love you, Lewis," I said as he stepped away from me. He gave me a little wave, still looking embarrassed, and grinned.

"Love you too, Fray," he said, hiking his bag higher on his shoulder as he turned away.

I watched him leave, a dull ache pricking at my heart. I wished I could give him what he wanted. I really, really did.

* * *

When I walked into history and saw Jace already seated in the chair next to mine, I felt as if the clouds had just parted from over the sun. There was something so reassuring about the sight of him, slumped in his desk as if he didn't have a care in the world. When our eyes met, he smiled brilliantly, and I couldn't help but grin back.

When I set my bag down next to him, I felt suddenly shy. It seemed like the gazes of everyone else in the room was fixed on us, waiting to see if we would confirm whatever rumors had been flying around about us. As covert as we'd managed to be about what had been going on between us lately-by making out in janitor's closets and whatnot-there was no way to keep a secret in this school for long.

"Hey," Jace said, giving me a slight nod. I felt a strange mixture of relief and disappointment. What had I expected besides the basic "hey"? For him to leap to his feet, grab me up into his arms, and give me a passionate kiss in front of the class? Hardly. That would have been mortifying for both of us. Yet his greeting seemed so distant, as if he'd forgotten what had just passed between us the night before.

"Hi," I said, opening my notebook and lowering my eyes to it, giving myself an excuse to look away from him.

We sat silently beside each other throughout the entire class period. As each minute ticked by, I grew more and more worried. Maybe he'd been weirded out about what had happened between us. Maybe he'd realized that he didn't want to be serious with me—or maybe, despite what he'd claimed before, he didn't want to let anyone else know that we were…what were we, anyway?

By the time the bell rang, I was sitting ramrod straight in my desk, keeping my eyes trained carefully on the front of the room, trying and failing not to watch Jace out of the periphery of my vision. It sure didn't look like he was feeling any of the nerves that I was; he remained slouched in his chair, one fingernail tapping lightly on the top of his desk. I longed to glance at him, to check his expression, to see if he was ignoring me, but I didn't dare.

When Mr. Tasker dismissed us, I sprang to my feet, too jumpy to stay seated a second longer. Jace calmly got up as well. I hovered for a moment, uncertain about whether I should wait for him or go on. One of Jace's friends called his name, and he waved at the other guy with a wry grin. I took that as a sign, and quickly made a break for the door.

Why should I have expected anything to have changed at school? The events of last night, and really everything that had happened since we'd first kissed, still seemed like a dream to me. And I couldn't blame Jace for wanting to keep what had happened a secret. It would be social suicide if this kind of thing got out.

I had just gotten out the door when an arm fell casually around my shoulders. My head snapped around, and I must have looked like a gaping fish as I stared at Jace, who looked completely at ease as he stood in the hallway of rushing students with his arm around me.

"Someone's stressed today," he remarked.

"I…what are you doing?" I stammered out, feeling the heat slowly rise in my cheeks. I cast a glance self-consciously at the people passing us, all of whom were openly staring.

"What?" he said, the picture of innocence. "I'm not making you uncomfortable, am I?"

"I've lost track of how many times you've asked me that," I said, slipping into sarcasm despite myself.

Jace laughed, a low sound that sent a little shiver up my spine, only making me tenser. "You're adorable." Then, to my astonishment, he bent his head and pecked me on the lips.

For a second, it was like the world froze. A few people even stopped in their tracks to gape. Their expressions of shock and incredulity were a little insulting, but then, I was hardly able to believe it, either. Jace Wayland and Clary Fray? Never. Unthinkable. And yet, here we were, publically displaying our affection for the whole school to see.

Jace's friends had emerged from the history classroom just in time to witness the kiss. Their mouths fell open. Apparently Jace hadn't filled them in on what he'd been doing lately.

"Was that a good idea?" I asked under my breath, even as my heart fluttered happily at his touch.

"Of course it was," Jace answered. He didn't even bother looking away from me; it was as if the rest of the gawking student body didn't exist. He widened his eyes at me. "Oh! Were you trying to keep it a secret? My bad."

"No," I said, trying to hold back a smile. "I thought that…you might want to, though."

"Me? Please." Jace cast a disinterested, slightly disdainful look over the people that still continued to watch us raptly. "I won't know any of these people five years from now. You're the only one that matters to me, Gingerbread."

Strange how that name had once bugged me beyond belief. Now, it felt like a term of endearment.

"I can live with that," I said with a grin. He chuckled and kissed my cheek, and that's when the muttering started, sweeping through the crowd and spreading to all corners of the school, no doubt, like wildfire through a dry forest.

Jace seemed completely untroubled by the gossip that was suddenly pinpointed straight on us. I, however, did not have the self-esteem that he did, and I braced myself for a long and painful week.

At least I'd have Jace by my side, though.

That thought made me smile.

My eyes skated past the faces, most of them belonging to people I didn't even know, and I realized Jace was right. Who cared what these people thought? Sure, they might make cruel comments, they might give me hateful looks, but they were nothing to me, really. They wouldn't have any importance in my life in a few years' time. But Jace might.

I glimpsed a flash of white and my eyes zipped back to it. Standing amongst the tide of students, like a rock lodged in a river, the water flowing around it, was Sebastian. I couldn't read the look on his face, as always, but something about it chilled me. I held his eyes until he blinked and turned away, melting in with the crowd again.

* * *

"So we're the talk of the school now," Jace mused, spinning a plastic straw back and forth between his fingers. "Not that that's anything new for me, but you must be experiencing some severe culture shock."

"Ha, ha," I said sarcastically, balancing a tray of drinks on each hand as I spoke. "You must have been a comedian in another life."

"I think I might have been, actually," he said thoughtfully as I ducked out from behind the counter. "It would explain my ability to come up with witty quips at a moment's notice."

I made a face at him, even though inside I kept smiling away. Jace was seated at the counter in the diner, while his gang of friends sat in their usual booth and hardly tried to hide the fact that they were watching us. When I'd gone to take their orders, I have to admit that I enjoyed their confusion. Aline, especially, gave me satisfaction. She glared balefully at me, like she would have been happy to crawl across the table and slap me.

_I'd like to see you try, _I thought at her, fighting the urge to stick out my tongue like a five-year-old.

I had also noticed the conspicuous absence of Sebastian. That worried me.

"Waitress!" a man called from across the diner, in Mona's usual section. He looked annoyed and impatient; I'd officially labeled him the most obnoxious customer of the day. "Can I get a check, please?"

"Just a minute, sir," I said in my best polite voice. I gave the diner a once-over, looking for Mona, but she was nowhere to be found. I felt a surge of frustration. Where had she wandered off to now?

"I'll bring him his check," said Jace as I returned to the counter, his eyes on the obnoxious man. "And while I'm at it, I'll shove it up his—"

"Jace," I sighed, slipping an order ticket in to Chef Timothy's window. "Don't even think about it. Besides, compared to some of the things you've done, he isn't that bad." I regretted the words as soon as they were out. What possessed me to even say that? Even in jest, I should have known it was stupid. Jace's face darkened, and I bit my lip, wanting to apologize but knowing his aversion to that kind of thing.

"Clary?" My mom emerged from her office, wearing that harried look she got when she was overwhelmed. "Where's Mona? Why isn't she working? She is not scheduled to have a break right now."

"I don't know," I said, tearing my eyes away from Jace. My mom opened her mouth to say more, but then stopped, casting a questioning look at Jace. I gave her an _I'll explain later _look, and after a moment she nodded.

"Tell her I'm looking for her, if you find her," my mom said irritably, retreating back into her office and shutting the door.

A clattering sound drew my attention over to Mona's section, where a small child had just flung his drink—luckily the cup was plastic—to the ground, spilling its contents everywhere. Jace caught my eye and smirked, raising his eyebrows, and I scowled back.

"Looks like you have a mess to clean up," he said, his smirk widening into a grin. I rolled my eyes at him and stomped toward the storage closet, where the cleaning supplies were kept. That was another problem with having a ridiculously small staff, half of it being extremely lazy—I ended up cleaning up most of the messes.

I was about to push the storage door open when I heard voices coming from within. I paused, confused, and leaned closer. Sure, eavesdropping is rude, but I couldn't think of anyone who could be in there who had permission. It had to be Mona, but who would she be talking to?

"You need to take care of it." I recognized Mona's voice, sounding shriller and more panicky than usual. "We can't just pretend like nothing's wrong. He _knows, _and he could tell someone at any time."

"I told you," an aggravated voice answered, and I froze, my jaw literally dropping open. "He isn't sure of anything. And I'm taking care of it."

"By _blackmail?" _Mona spat. "How long do you think that's going to work?"

"What do you propose we do, then?" the second voice said, cold as ice and horribly familiar.

Sebastian's voice.

There was a beat of silence behind the door. Then Mona said in a quieter voice that caused me to lean toward the door, "I don't know."

"Do you want to kill him? Is that your brilliant solution?"

"Of course not!" Mona snapped. "But it's only a matter of time before he realizes that the information he has on us is more important than protecting whatever secret you're holding over his head."

"Believe me," said Sebastian in that infuriatingly calm way of his. "He won't let this secret get out in a hurry."

I didn't know what to do. Should I turn around and walk away? Should I burst in and pretend that I'd accidentally stumbled upon them, or should I outright accuse them? I knew they were talking about Alec, about whatever he had on Sebastian—and apparently Mona, too—that had elicited Sebastian's wrath. But what had they done that caused them to need Alec to keep his mouth shut? And why were Sebastian and Mona working together in the first place?

Before I could decide what to do, my decision was made for me. The door swung open, and I found myself staring at Sebastian, who showed not the slightest sign of surprise. His dark eyes locked on me, and there was something extremely unsettling about them for reasons I couldn't quite put my finger on.

"Clary," Mona snapped, appearing from behind Sebastian. She looked agitated and flustered, and she glowered at me as if I were the cause of all her problems. "Were you listening in on our conversation?"

"N-no," I managed to get out, not quite able to keep my eyes off Sebastian, and the stony look on his face. "I was just getting a mop…"

"Whatever." Mona shouldered past me without another word to Sebastian.

I was left facing him, waiting for him to say something, but he just blinked at me and then walked away. I watched him go, grimly wondering what he could have done that was so bad, how he could have gotten Mona involved.

A tiny tickle at the back of my mind tried to claw out into the spotlight, tried to call my attention to it, but I pushed it forcefully away. No. There were some things I couldn't even contemplate, some things too impossible and too painful to think about. And that little tickle was one of them; I felt like my brain was blocking it out like Jace's mind blocked out the memories of the night he was attacked.

I turned away from the storage closet, forgetting about the mop, and tried to forget everything I'd just heard.

* * *

"Alec is sporting some decent battle wounds," Simon remarked, scrutinizing the other boy from where he stood alone at the edge of the large courtyard, his hands in his pockets. His pale face was still decorated with evidence of his fistfight with Sebastian; his bright blue eyes were dark as they skimmed over each student that passed him, as if he expected them to leap at him and attack.

"Mm," I said distractedly. Ever since yesterday when I'd overheard Sebastian and Mona in the closet, I hadn't been able to get their conversation out of my head—and all the other conversations I'd had with Sebastian, to be exact. I couldn't help remembering how Mona had refused to serve the police officers when they'd come into the diner that day, how scared she had looked. Did that fear have something to do with what she'd been up to with Sebastian?

"You okay?" Simon asked, waving a hand in front of my face. "You keep spacing out."

"Sorry," I said, shaking my head. "I have a lot on my mind."

"Boyfriend troubles?" he asked snidely, and I shoved his arm, though I was secretly glad he could joke about it.

"_No," _I said, and then I had to hide a stupid smile, because even the thought of Jace made me grin. He had walked me through the halls all day, enduring the stares and gawks that followed in our wake without batting an eyelash. It boggled my mind that he was serious about not caring what others thought of him. I'd always considered Jace to be obsessed with his image, but that sure didn't seem to be the case now.

"Look at that," Simon said, nudging me with his elbow and forgetting about the boyfriend jokes, to my relief. I followed his gaze back to Alec, and saw a tall, skinny figure loping up to him. Magnus, I realized with a small jolt.

I watched as Magnus stopped beside Alec, leaning close to murmur something to him. Alec jerked away from him like the other boy was diseased; he shook his head hard and fast, and then turned and strode quickly toward the door that led back into the school. Magnus watched him go, a look of frustration on his face.

From what I could tell, Magnus had no troubles embracing what he and Alec had—or, at least, what I assumed they had. Alec, however, did not seem as ready to openly admit what he felt for Magnus. This must have been what Sebastian was blackmailing him about; if Alec didn't keep whatever he'd caught Sebastian doing a secret, Sebastian would reveal his relationship with Magnus to the world.

I felt an sudden and harsh swell of anger. It wasn't Sebastian's business; he had no right to threaten to out a secret that Alec clearly wasn't ready to reveal yet. Alec needed to figure things out in his own time, and Sebastian was only making things worse for him.

"Sebastian is a jerk," I growled, and Simon, who may or may not have been in the middle of a sentence, looked over at me, his mouth half open with surprise.

"He is," he agreed. "But what makes you say that in this instance?"

"Because he sticks his nose in where it's not wanted. He manipulates and he uses people," I fumed, thinking of myself as much as Alec.

"I'm glad you're finally coming around," said Simon. "Don't look now, but he just walked into the courtyard, and he's staring right at you." I looked quickly toward the door, which was swinging closed after Sebastian, who was indeed looking at me. When our eyes met, he started toward me, and I fought the urge to run in the other direction. I glimpsed Magnus staring at Sebastian with fire in his eyes, and I was suddenly glad that Alec had left the courtyard. The last thing he needed was to be provoked into another fistfight.

"Want me to tell him to get lost?" Simon offered, pushing his sleeves up over his skinny arms.

"It's okay," I said, putting my hand out to stop him from charging Sebastian. "I need to talk to him about something, anyway."

Simon frowned. "Don't tell me you're still going to play detective with him."

"Of course not," I said. "But I do have a few questions. And then I'll do my best to keep my distance, I promise."

Simon sighed. "Fine. But just call if you need any help." Sebastian reached us then, and Simon took that as his cue to leave. He backed away, pointing to his eyes and then at Sebastian's, warning him that he would be on the watch. He spun around and headed for the door, and I almost called him back. I'd never wanted to be alone with Sebastian less than I did right now, but after what I'd heard yesterday, I didn't really have a choice.

"I'm glad I caught you, Clary," Sebastian said before I could get a word out. "I've discovered more proof that Magnus might be the one we're looking for."

I stared. "Are you insane?"

He didn't even blink. "No," he said calmly.

"You think I would still work with you after all that you've done?"

"I don't see how what I've done affects you or what we're trying to do to help Jace."

"Wow," I snapped, quickly losing whatever composure I'd managed to cling to. "Did you maybe forget the part where you manipulated me in order to hurt Alec? And even after I realized what you're doing, you're still trying to manipulate me. You're standing in front of me right now, trying to get me to believe that Magnus is a danger."

"I genuinely believe that Magnus is responsible for what happened to Jace," he answered coolly, but behind his calm exterior, I could see his eyes starting to burn. "And I never manipulated you."

"And what exactly were you doing locked up with Mona in a closet yesterday?" I said, fixing him with what I hoped was an intimidating glare. "And what were you talking about? She knows that you're blackmailing Alec. What are you trying to keep him from saying?"

"You really want to know, Clary?" His voice was low now, intense, and his fingers were curled stiffly at his sides. "You want to know what I did? Because if I tell you, I have to know that you won't tell anyone else."

I stared him down. "I'm not going to promise that."

He stared right back, towering over me, not helping with my attempt at intimidation. "Then I can't tell you."

"What's the matter with you?" I hissed. "You go around acting like nothing's wrong, hint at committing some crime or another, involve Mona, hold other people's secrets over their heads. Are you some kind of lunatic?"

His eyes were shadowed as he looked at me, and he suddenly looked very dangerous. But instead of acknowledging anything I had just said, he took a completely different track. "Didn't you hear anything I said to you the other night at the diner?" he said. "I told you what Jace was planning on doing to you. And yet here you are, clinging to him like any of the other fangirls he's had trailing after him since we were kids."

"What?" I sputtered. "We are not talking about Jace and me here, Sebastian!"

But he had already dropped the previous subject, and there was no getting it back. He seemed determined of that. "I thought you were a different girl, Clary," he said, looking at me with disdain. Despite the anger I felt, the disgust, seeing him look at me that way hurt.

"Jace isn't the way you painted him out to be," I snapped back. "He dropped all of that crap a long time ago. And it's not any of your business—but then, you have a bad habit of butting in where you're not wanted, don't you?"

"He doesn't deserve you," he said, taking a step nearer. I held my ground with difficulty. "He was going to hurt you, Clary. He was going to humiliate you. And you can just forgive him for that?"

"He asked for my forgiveness, and I gave it," I answered coldly. "I like him, Sebastian. Maybe even more than like him." I broke off, stunned at what I'd just involuntarily said. More than liked him? Why was I just thinking of this now? And why was I mentioning it to _Sebastian? _

Sebastian looked stricken, as if I'd just said something scandalous. "You deserve so much better," he said again, and then he added softly, "Let me show you."

Then he dipped his head down and kissed me.

This was nothing like any of my kisses with Jace had been.

When I'd first kissed Jace, something had snapped inside of me. I'd instinctively responded, throwing myself into the kiss with embarrassing gusto. The other times we kissed, I felt like hot and cold were clashing together in my chest, creating a surge of excitement and adrenaline. It made me feel alive and so _good, _and it made the rest of the world disappear, until it was just the two of us.

With Sebastian, I didn't immediately respond to the kiss. In fact, my body tried to reject it; I tried to back away, to break the kiss, but his hands were gripping my shoulders, and he was backing me up against one of the slightly spindly trees that grew in the courtyard, cutting off all escape. His fingers dug into my skin painfully, and his lips weren't warm and soft and perfect like Jace's. His were cold and dry, and they forced themselves on mine, moving insistently, trying to force me to respond to him.

I made a noise of protest in the back of my throat, which may have been a scream if it could have come out through my currently occupied mouth. My hands shoved viciously against his chest, but he didn't budge. My anger was mingled with panic. How far was he going to go in a courtyard full of students? Didn't anyone notice what was going on? Couldn't they see that I clearly hadn't had a say in what was happening?

_Stop! _I wanted to scream, but I couldn't get a word out. He was everywhere, enveloping me like water, closing over my head, drowning me. For the first time, I was genuinely afraid of Sebastian.

He released my mouth only to lower his lips to my neck. I tried to draw in breath to scream or make some kind of noise that might alert anyone to what was going on, but I couldn't get any air in. Only now did I realize that the tree he had me pressed against was blocking us from view of the other students. "See, Clary?" he breathed, his uncomfortably hot breath tickling my neck, my ear. "You don't need him. You never needed him." His hands traced over me and I tried to bring my knee up to give him a good solid kick to his most tender spot, but he stopped me with one hand on my leg. "Careful," he said softly. "Let's not get carried away." And then he actually _laughed, _a short, breathy sound. He moved his mouth back to mine, cutting off any chance I might have had at recovering my voice enough to make a ruckus.

"Excuse me, sir," said a deceptively pleasant voice from over Sebastian's shoulder. He broke the kiss, his head turning, his eyes narrowing. He was breathing hard, his pale face flushed.

Magnus stood just behind Sebastian, his hands clasped in front of him. He gave Sebastian a sunny smile. "I was standing nearby when I happened to notice that you're on the verge of raping this girl, and I was wondering if there was any way you could back off," he said.

I tried shoving at Sebastian's chest again, but he hadn't dropped his guard, and I wasn't going anywhere.

"Why don't you get lost?" said Sebastian, his voice eerily calm, but with a small vibration of underlying fury. His eyes were too bright, his hands squeezing my arms.

Magnus shrugged. "All right, if you insist." He began to turn away. Sebastian had just started to turn his attention back to me when Magnus whirled around again, his fist raised, and landed a hard blow right to Sebastian's chin.

Sebastian staggered back, releasing me, and the look of shock on his face was priceless.

"Didn't expect a _gay _to be able to fight back, did you?" Magnus said, eyeing Sebastian with the utmost disgust. He glanced at me, his eyes softening. "I think you'd better get yourself inside, sweetheart. This might get ugly."

I could feel myself starting to shake, like the night I'd been attacked by Raphael. "I-I can't just leave you here with h-him," I stuttered, still pressed against the tree, frozen.

"Don't worry, I know a fight I can't win when I see one," he said with a wink. Sebastian was recovering himself, wiping blood from the corner of his mouth, and the look on his face was purely murderous. "I plan to hightail it out of here in five, four, three…"

I nodded, trusting he would be able to get himself out, and ran toward the door of the courtyard. I got a few startled looks from the people I passed, all of whom seemed completely oblivious to the scene going on just a few feet away from them. I pushed through the door, feeling jittery and hot, my palms slick with sweat, my hands trembling.

Seeing Simon leaning against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest, looking slightly uncomfortable, might have been the best sight I'd ever seen in my life. He'd waited for me.

He spotted me and straightened, his quick grin fading when he took in my expression. "Clary?" he said in alarm. "What happened?"

I shook my head, not trusting my voice to speak for me. He put his arm around me, and I leaned against him, feeling like my knees would give out. My lips burned from Sebastian's kiss, and I could still feel his hands on me, still feel his breath against my mouth. I shuddered, vaguely surprised by just how revolting Sebastian had become to me.

"What did he do to you?" Simon said sharply. "Did he hurt you?"

I opened my mouth to explain, but only a pitiful sound escaped. I suddenly felt weak and small, not to mention pathetic. Why hadn't I fought back harder? Why hadn't I bashed my knee into his groin? Why hadn't I been able to scream?

Simon took my face in his hands, searching my eyes, looking more and more worried. "Clary?"

"I hope you're not trying to move in on my girl, Lewis."

The sound of Jace's voice was so wonderful, so welcome, that I felt tears press at my eyes. I blinked them away, but my vision remained blurry. Simon quickly dropped his hands and stepped away from me. He didn't look embarrassed or angry, just anxious.

"Something happened," he said, addressing Jace, who had strode up behind us, his crooked smirk dropping off his face as he took me in. "She was out with Sebastian one minute, and the next—"

"Sebastian?" Jace's voice was sharp and loud enough to draw the stares of everyone in the hall. He didn't seem to notice the extra attention he was getting. He was by my side in an instant, taking my arms, bending his head so that he could look into my face. "Did he hurt you, Clary? I swear to God, if he did—"

"N-no," I managed to get out, wishing I would stop that damn stammering, wishing I could toss my hair, roll my eyes, and laugh about this. But in truth, I was terrified. I couldn't blow this off. "I mean, not really—"

"I'm going to kill him," said Jace grimly. "What did he do to you, Clary?"

I just looked at him, pressing my lips together, afraid of what would happen next if I told him. What would Sebastian do? Would he hunt me down and punish me for squealing? But I couldn't keep this a secret. It was stupid to do so. Magnus had been there, he'd been a witness, he'd s_aved _me—

"Clary!" Jace's hands tightened on my arms, still not as painful as Sebastian's grip had been. "You have to tell me."

"He kissed me," I whispered, and suddenly Jace's hands were gone from my arms, and he was gone altogether, and the door to the courtyard was banging shut. I blinked unsteadily, not quite able to process what had happened.

"Uh, oh," Simon muttered. "He's pissed. Beyond pissed, actually. I think he just passed the line into 'murderously enraged' territory."

"What's Jace going to do, Simon?" I asked, automatically reaching out and taking his hand, needing the comfort. Simon squeezed my fingers reassuringly.

"Probably going to go and kick Sebastian's ass. Which he totally deserves," said Simon darkly. "If I wasn't a literal string bean and no match at all for someone like Sebastian, I'd go after him, too. But I guess I'll have to settle for getting you home." He sighed and once again looped his arm around my shoulders. "Come on, Clary."

I didn't want to go. I wanted to stay and find Jace. I wanted to throw my arms around him and let him hold me. I didn't want him to go after Sebastian and beat him up; as much as I hated Sebastian, as horrified as I was by what had just happened in the courtyard, I didn't want to be the one to split up their friendship. How many years had they been best friends? Most of their lives, Jace had once mentioned. And now that was going to be ruined because of me.

_That doesn't matter, _a spiteful voice said in my brain. _He's a slimeball, and Jace deserves better for his friends. _

But I still felt miserable, for so many reasons.

* * *

Simon insisted that I go home directly after school. I was against this idea, seeing as how I didn't know where Jace was, what he was doing, and how bad it was getting. Just thinking of the dark rage in his eyes as he left to find Sebastian had me dying of anxiety. Sebastian wasn't exactly on my good side right now, but I was concerned for him. Jace had looked very capable of strangling the life out of him.

"You need rest," Simon said adamantly. "You've been through something traumatic."

Honestly, I'd gotten over it after about twenty minutes. It had taken only five for the slight tremors to stop, and then my fear and shock wore off and was replaced with anger, distress, and worry. What Sebastian had done had shaken me, but at the same time a part of me was sure he wouldn't have done anything beyond kissing me…would he?

It was useless to agonize over it now. I was never going to give Sebastian another opportunity to pull anything like that again, and if he tried, I would be prepared with a good drop-kick to the balls.

The best thing for me, in my opinion, was to get my mind off what had happened. Unfortunately, I didn't have a shift at the diner today, and Simon had to return to the school to tutor. I tried to protest his insistence that I stay at home and relax, but Simon wasn't having it. "You're going to stay in this apartment, Clary Fray," he said in a voice so steely that it shut off any other arguments I'd planned on making. "I'll come back after I finish tutoring, okay?"

I was left alone in the apartment, sitting on the couch and staring into space, my mind running over the events of today again and again. I could still feel the unpleasant burn of Sebastian's lips against mine, making my skin itch uncomfortably. What would have happened if Magnus hadn't been there? Would someone else have stopped Sebastian? Would Jace or Simon have come looking for me? Would Sebastian have eventually stopped, or would he have taken it as far as he could?

I jumped to my feet and started pacing. I was bursting with nervous energy. I couldn't sit here and twiddle my thumbs and wonder what was going to happen next. I couldn't wait to be filled in. I had to do something, or else I was going to explode.

Without making a fully conscious decision to do so, I grabbed my coat from its hook in the closet and walked out the apartment door. If Sebastian wasn't going to give me any answers, then maybe Mona would.

* * *

_My apologies for the cliffhanger. It's an evil thing to do. But do you know what this means? Do you?! It means that we're nearing the end of the story. That's right! Soon, all will be revealed... Dun dun DUUNNNN. _

_Anywho, thank you for reading and reviewing! I can't believe we're at 800 reviews, you guys rock! _


	34. Chapter 34

_Well it's that time of the week again! Today we get a little bit of Jace POV for the first time! Finally, huh? And guess what? IT'S THE REVEAL CHAPTER! That's right! Time to see who was behind the attack on Jace...will your guesses be right? Let's see... _

* * *

Luck was with me as I walked through the door of the diner. Valentine's was almost deserted; I could see Mona leaning against the counter, staring into space and nibbling absently on her nails. I knew instantly that something worrying was on her mind; it was rare to see her choosing to spend her time in solitude rather than talking the ear off Chef Timothy, or anyone else that was polite enough to listen.

I marched up to her. When she caught sight of me, she straightened at once, and a look of panic flitted through her eyes. Unlike Sebastian, she wasn't so good at hiding her emotions.

"Clary," she said, her voice squeaking a little. "I—isn't it your day off?"

"Yes," I said, ducking behind the counter and planting myself beside her. "I came to talk to you, actually."

She looked more panicked than ever. "I have work to do," she said, eyes pinwheeling around as she searched for an escape route. "I can't stand here and gossip—"

"You mean like you do every other day?" I snapped, and she looked startled. "We need to talk, Mona." Without letting her respond, I grabbed her wrist and dragged her toward the storage closet. I seemed to be spending an awful lot of time in closets lately, with varying results.

I shut the door behind us and stood in front of it, folding my arms over my chest and attempting to give off the impression that I could prevent her from leaving if she tried it. Mona backed up against the far wall, looking absolutely frantic. You'd think I had a gun trained on her.

"What were you talking about with Sebastian yesterday?" I asked calmly.

"I knew it!" she cried, waving a finger at me. "I knew you were eavesdropping!"

"Like you don't eavesdrop on my conversations," I scoffed. "What did you and Sebastian do that was so bad? Why does he need to blackmail Alec?"

"No," said Mona, exhaling sharply. "There is absolutely no way I'm going to let you bully me into answering any of your questions. It's pointless, anyway. We didn't do anything wrong." Though she kept her voice haughty, there was still fear in her eyes, outing her lie.

"Mona, I can help you," I said quietly, trying a different approach. "I know Sebastian is intimidating. I'll understand if you tell me that he pressured you into this, or blackmailed you. I'll…I'll even back you up."

Mona hesitated, looking at me uncertainly. She wasn't always the sharpest tool in the hardware store, but she knew that I was offering a small way out. Offering to let her say that she'd been forced into whatever had happened. In her eyes, I saw the longing to tell someone what was on her mind, a wish to relieve herself of the burden she'd been carrying around for a while now.

"It was his idea," Mona said in a small voice. "And I didn't know what would happen. I just found out yesterday that he went after you, too, and I'm sorry. I didn't know you were involved, I swear." Her voice was getting higher and higher in pitch, her eyes widening.

"Slow down, Mona," I said, putting out a hand to steady her. "What are you talking about? Who went after me?"

I saw her swallow and then she looked at me with shame and fear mingling on her face. "Raphael," she whispered.

I felt like I'd been hit in the stomach. "Wait," I said. "You were involved in sending Raphael after me?"

"No!" Mona cried, dragging her hands through her hair. "I mean, Sebastian asked me to ask Raphael for a favor, but he never told me what it was for."

"You asked Raphael? You know him?" I said unsteadily.

Mona bit her lip and said nothing, and I knew by her silence exactly how she knew him. They'd probably been romantically involved at some point, or currently—something I really didn't want to picture.

"What was the favor?" I said quietly.

"Sebastian didn't tell me," she said, avoiding my eyes. "He just said that he needed Raphael to do something for a friend. And then when that guy Jace got hurt, I was afraid that Raphael had something to do with it—I asked him about it, and he said that he didn't touch a hair on his head."

"And you believed him?" I said sharply.

"Yes," Mona said, a little strength returning to her voice. "Raphael has never been afraid to talk about what he's done…he said he was at a party that night. He drugged Jace's drink with something, or something like that."

I stared at Mona in growing horror. I had tried my best to put Raphael out of my mind ever since I'd met him. That had been stupid of me. I should have been wondering about him, should have been trying to connect the dots. Jace had mentioned that he'd "run into" Raphael a couple of times, under unpleasant circumstances. What if they'd encountered each other at Isabelle's party? And Raphael had drugged Jace's drink, just like Alec had feared…

I felt like there was something stuck in my chest, obstructing my ability to breathe. "And you and Sebastian were the ones who put him up to it?" I whispered.

"No," Mona said, desperate. "All I did was direct Raphael to Sebastian and ask if he could do a few favors. I didn't have anything to do with what happened after that. But Sebastian keeps on finding me, and telling me that if he's caught, I will be, too. He says that I'm as much to blame as they are." There was pure terror in her eyes now, and if I hadn't been so shocked, I might have felt some sympathy for her.

I tried to steady my breathing with little success. "You do realize that Raphael came after me?" I said, my voice sounding too even. "He could have killed me, Mona."

"I didn't know!" she all but wailed. "Sebastian and Raphael didn't tell me what they were doing, and now I'm an accomplice, and if the cops find out I'm going to go to jail!"

Tears were spilling down her cheeks now. I didn't have time to feel sorry for her. "What about Alec Lightwood?" I demanded. "He knows about this?"

"He walked in on some meeting between Raphael and Sebastian once," said Mona miserably, no longer attempting to hold back any information. "He knows who Raphael is—a lot of kids around here do, he has a reputation—and he knew Sebastian was up to something bad. But he doesn't know what exactly, just enough that he could get Sebastian and Raphael into serious trouble if he told."

"Holy crap," I whispered, shaking my head back and forth. My head was struggling to wrap itself around what I was hearing. Sebastian had hired Raphael; that meant he was the "employer" that Raphael had taunted me about in the park. He had put Raphael up to drugging Jace's drink to put him in a state where he wouldn't remember who had attacked him—but did that mean that Sebastian had intended to just hurt Jace, rather than kill him? Or had he drugged him just to be safe, in case he didn't get the chance to finish him off?

No, I realized, he had drugged Jace's drink to get him out of the party. Maybe Sebastian had even put the thought in his mind to come to Valentine's, and in his drugged-up state, Jace had agreed and stumbled off.

Alec knew. And because of that, Sebastian had threatened to reveal his relationship with Magnus—and aside from that, he'd used _me _to try to turn Magnus into a suspect for the attack. If I had believed Sebastian, if he'd succeeded in charming me and had gotten me to go along with whatever he wanted like he had with Mona, would I have tried my best to get Magnus arrested?

It all made sense now, clicking together into one horrible puzzle. Jace wouldn't suspect his best friend; that's why he had no leads. I hadn't even suspected him, because I was stupid and blind and I'd deluded myself into thinking that Sebastian was my friend...or was at least a decent enough person not to pull something so horrific.

But why had he wasted all that time saying he was trying to help me find Jace's attacker, then? Just to earn my trust so that he could frame Magnus? To throw everyone off his trail and make us think he was the good guy, the best friend hell bent on avenging Jace? But he'd seemed genuine, like he really cared, like he really wanted to know and prevent it from happening again…

Another thought popped into my head, leaving me dizzy and sickened. Jace's words from the night Raphael had attacked me in the park came ringing back: _I remember leaning against the building, and the world was blurry, except for a pair of black eyes._ How many times had I looked into Sebastian's eyes and marveled at how dark they were, how the pupil seemed to have swallowed the irises whole?

So Sebastian's concern for Jace had been an act. Everything had.

I felt like I was going to throw up.

Mona was too busy freaking out to notice that I'd been lost in my thoughts for who knows how long, my face no doubt displaying just how horrifying each new realization came to be.

"I'm going to be arrested," she moaned, her hands shaking visibly as she wrung them together. "Then my dad's going to have to come and bail me out and—Oh, hell, my dad! He's going to be so mad, and then he'll get what he always wanted, to be able to say 'I told you so,' 'I told you you'd never amount to anything, Mona,' and he'll leave me in jail… What if I go to _prison? _What if I get a life sentence? Or the death sentence?"

"Mona!" I shouted, reaching out and grabbing her shoulders. "Shut up!"

She stared at me with huge, panicked eyes, like a deer frozen in the road watching a semi come barreling toward her.

"You aren't going to jail, okay?" I snapped. "You didn't do anything wrong." I wasn't certain that was true, but if it helped her calm down, I was more than happy to say it.

Mona looked no less frightened. "Sebastian will kill me for telling you," she whispered. A shiver rolled down my spine; she might not be exaggerating.

"You should have gone to the police," I said severely. "You should have confessed what you knew about Sebastian. He could still be out there, trying to hurt Jace, to finish what he—" I broke off with a sharp gasp as something awful struck me.

In my head, I pictured Sebastian's smile as he kissed me. I pictured Jace as he disappeared through the courtyard door after him.

Sebastian had kissed me to make Jace angry. He'd goaded him into following him…because he knew that Jace would be willing to literally chase Sebastian down the streets of New York City for what he'd done. Sebastian could lead him anywhere…anywhere remote, quiet, far from witnesses…

"I have to go," I blurted out, already running for the door, flinging it open so hard it crashed against the wall. Mona stared after me in confusion, but I didn't stop to let her ask what was going on.

I was halfway to the diner door, sprinting toward it like a madwoman, when my mom emerged from the kitchen. "Clary!" she called, sounding bewildered and alarmed. "Where are you going? What's going on?"

I didn't answer. She could be as angry at me as she wanted; nothing in hell was going to make me stop now. I slammed my palms against the front door, shoving it open with a loud bang. Bitingly cold air hit me, cutting straight through my clothes, but I barely noticed it.

I pulled my phone out of my pocket and called Jace, my heart sprinting with fear. I listened to his phone ring over and over again, silently chanting, _Please, please pick up, _and then I got his voicemail. I swore and hung up, calling again, and then a third time, but he never answered.

I forced myself to slow to a walk, partly so that I wouldn't alarm any pedestrians, and partly so I could reasonably text while still moving. _It was Sebastian, _I texted, my hands shaking so much that it took me way longer than it should have to type in the message.

To my astonishment and annoyance, he replied just seconds later. He could text me but he couldn't pick up the phone?

I opened his text. _Meet me at Central Park by the gazebo, _it said. _Make sure you aren't followed._

My heart jumped. I ran to the side of the road, holding out a hand, desperately trying to hail a taxi. It had never been my strong suit, but I'd been decent at it in the past. Today, not a single cab stopped for me.

Then a car, not a taxi, pulled up to the curb next to me. It was a shockingly yellow Camaro, nicer than most cars I usually saw. The tinted window rolled down and, to my utter astonishment, Magnus leaned across the passenger seat, grinning at me.

"Need a ride?" he called.

Not needing him to offer twice, I threw myself into the car next to him. "Magnus," I said, relief cutting through my urgency. He didn't look like he'd recently sustained any injuries. "You're okay."

"Of course I am," he answered, pulling carefully out into traffic again. "I told you I could get myself out, didn't I? Alec might have the balls to have a fistfight with Sebastian, but I like to think of myself as the intelligent one in that particular relationship, and I know better. Oops," he said, not sounding apologetic in the least. "I'm not supposed to talk about our relationship."

So Alec was the reluctant one, I thought. "It's okay, I already guessed," I said, and Magnus winked at me.

"Where to?" he asked, swerving frighteningly around a taxi driver, who honked and shouted something at him.

"Central Park," I said. "And hurry, please. It's an emergency."

"Emergency romantic walk by the pond?" Magnus said understandingly. "I know that feel."

"No. I think I know something important about…what happened to Jace," I said, twisting my fingers tightly together in my lap and fighting the urge to bounce impatiently in my seat. "I need to tell him. He texted me and told me to meet him in Central Park."

"Ah," said Magnus, eyes growing serious. To my relief, he didn't ask any other questions. "We'll have to be speedy then, won't we?"

"What are you doing over here, anyway?" I asked. "How did you see me?"

"I was actually stopping by your diner. I've heard good things," he said with another wink. "I saw you sprinting out and decided to see where the fire was. I'm glad I can be of use."

I couldn't bring myself to make any small talk the rest of the way. All I could think about was Jace. He was fine, I told myself. He had probably come to his senses and left Sebastian alone, realized he wasn't worth it—or maybe he'd beaten him up and left, and it was already over. I had to tell him as soon as I possibly could, though. I had to get him to understand the danger. I could only guess that it would take a lot of convincing to get him to believe that his best friend was the culprit. I wished I could text him the entire story, but my hands were shaking too badly, and it would take too long. I had to explain it to him in person—or over the phone, if he would pick the damn thing up.

I called twice more on the ride over, but again he didn't pick up. Anxiety coursed through me. Why wasn't he answering? Was he in a situation where he couldn't be seen on the phone? Was he confronting Sebastian right now?

My phone rang and I nearly jumped through the car roof. A glance showed that it was Simon calling, and I quickly sent it to voicemail. I wasn't sure if he could have gotten back to my apartment by now, but if he had, I had no doubt he was pissed upon finding out that I was no longer there. There wasn't time to get yelled at now.

I threw the door to Magnus's car open almost before it came to a complete stop in front of one of the entrances to Central Park. "Thank you," I said swiftly, undoing my seatbelt and already having one foot out of the car. "I'll pay you back for this, I promise."

"Just be careful," Magnus said, sounding a little concerned. His yellow-green eyes watched me as I slammed his door shut, entered the park, and started running.

I headed for the gazebo, my heart hammering in my throat. The park was bathed in a red glow as the sun started to set, and I would have enjoyed taking in the pretty autumn scenery if it were any other time. All I cared about now was Jace, seeing him by the gazebo, strong and healthy and smiling. I wanted to run into his arms and just bask in the knowledge that he was safe.

The gazebo that we'd sheltered under during the rainstorm loomed up in front of me. It was currently empty; I had beaten Jace here. I stopped in front of it, trying to catch my breath, bracing my hands on my knees. I was shaking all over now from a mixture of exertion, adrenaline, and fear.

My phone dinged again, and my heart leaped. I looked down at it, opened the message from Jace. _Turn right into the trees, _it said. _Don't want to be in the open. I can see you from where I'm standing. _

Without another thought, I turned and hurried into the shadowy trees.

**~Jace's POV~**

"I cannot believe I'm doing this," I grunted, adjusting Sebastian's arm from where it was draped around my shoulders.

I'd started out on a bloodthirsty hunt for vengeance. Turns out, I was losing my touch, because after catching up with him and giving him a good few punches, I actually felt _sorry _for the guy. He looked pretty pathetic, sprawled on the ground with his brand new shiner and blood trickling from his split lip, which had already been in shoddy shape from his fight with Alec.

So here I was, actually helping him, hauling his sorry ass back to my house. Because when it came down to it, after everything he'd done, he was still my friend. As much as I hated him at the moment.

Every time I pictured Clary's face, white with shock and fear, after she came out of that courtyard, I was sorely tempted to sling Sebastian to the ground and start hitting him again. But he'd taken enough of a beating for one day.

I shouldered the front door open and dumped Sebastian unceremoniously in the nearest armchair. My mom was going to kill me if he got any blood on the furniture, but I wasn't in the mood to drag him up the stairs and get him situated in my room. Sebastian groaned, looking totally out of it. I wondered if I'd given him a concussion or something. I didn't really care, either way.

I stood and fixed Sebastian with a look. Hard to believe this was the same guy who had just had his hands all over Clary.

Sebastian's eyes opened all the way and he fixed his eyes blearily on me. "Why did you bring me here?" His voice was just a mumble. He looked exhausted.

"Why did you force yourself on Clary and then run from me?" I retorted coldly. Because he had run—in the way that Sebastian runs, by walking coolly away and threading his way through the crowds of kids in the halls. The guy was almost impossible to catch when he didn't want to be caught.

"Can't tell you that." He closed his eyes again and leaned his head against the back of the chair.

I was in front of him in a flash, bracing my hands on the arms of the chair. He didn't flinch, didn't even look at me. I leaned toward him as my anger began to smolder again. "What are you doing, Sebastian?" I growled. "What's your angle?"

"Is that why you brought me here?" he said. "To interrogate me?"

I stared at his blank face a moment longer and then pulled back, letting out an angry breath. As always, he wasn't going to tell me anything. That had been one of the reasons we'd first become friends, in the beginning; we'd both liked the fact that we didn't have to share everything with one another, that we could have secrets and there was no problem with that.

We had always had each other's backs. We'd sort of rescued each other, in some strange way; when we'd met, I'd been an angry kid, broken after losing my dad. He had been the loner, friendless, removed from everyone else. Then we were suddenly sitting together at lunch, and we weren't isolated anymore, separate, alone in the world. We were united, we had each other, and that had been enough to get by. He hadn't asked me questions about my father; he hadn't offered me pity. He had just been there, with his blank eyes, and he'd always been the only person who had ever really understood me.

Until Clary, that is.

She had been pretty unexpected, barreling out of nowhere and hitting me with a sucker punch to the face-figuratively, though I had no doubt she could beat me up if she wanted. She looked at me with those deep green eyes of hers, and it was like she could see straight into me, past everything I put out there for the world to see, past every disguise and mask, to _me. _At first, that terrified me about her; I hated her for the way she could see through what I wanted her to see.

And then, just lately, that changed. Everything changed, because she changed me. She became beautiful to me, because she looked at me like she had hope for me. Like she could see something in me that I couldn't see.

Now the two of them, Sebastian and Clary, were mingling together in my head, clashing more like, and I didn't know who to believe, what to choose. Sebastian was my oldest friend. Clary was the only girl I'd ever genuinely cared about, someone I couldn't imagine living without now.

There were too many secrets now on Sebastian's part. Too many lies. And now this thing with Clary…if he touched her again, I was going to do a lot worse than give him a bloody lip and a black eye. And a possible concussion.

"Stay away from Clary, Seb," I said, rubbing my hands over my face, feeling a heavy weight settling over my chest.

"So you'd choose her over me." Sebastian's tone was even as always.

"If you're going to act like this, then yeah," I snapped back. "I don't know what's going on with you lately, but I'm sick of it. There are too many secrets, and I don't want any part of it anymore."

I waited for a moment, half hoping that Sebastian would mysteriously open up and blurt out everything he'd been hiding from me, but he didn't even bother opening his eyes. He remained silent, and I turned away angrily. He just wasn't worth the effort anymore.

The doorbell blared through the house, causing me to jump. Sebastian didn't move; I wondered if he'd fallen asleep in the space of a few seconds. He did look tired enough. I headed toward the front door, reaching for the knob, still preoccupied with the guy passed out in my armchair. What the hell was I supposed to do with him now?

"Don't forget to use the intercom," a voice said from behind me. I glanced over my shoulder to see Alec leaning in the doorway of the kitchen, his blue eyes curious. We didn't get a lot of visitors at the cathedral.

I rolled my eyes at him and opened the door anyway, ignoring the intercom button beside it. It had always seemed kind of pointless to me when you could just stick your head out the door and see for yourself who was waiting outside the gate.

In the fading light, I could see a pair of glasses flashing, a mop of dark hair bobbing impatiently.

Alec moved up behind me, squinting out the door. "Isn't that the guy Clary's always with?" he said dubiously.

I was already out the door, stalking down the walkway. This was the last thing I needed. How did he even know where I lived anyway?

"What do you want, Lewis?" I growled bad-temperedly as I reached the gate. "Not really the time."

Simon wrapped his hands around the bars of the gate and pressed closer, practically mashing his face against it. "It's Clary," he said urgently, and all my irritation instantly evaporated.

"Clary?" I repeated sharply, stopping right in front of the gate. My heart rate picked up, adrenaline pouring through me. My weariness from earlier was gone, and now I felt like I could race through the entire city until I found her, until I could be sure that she was safe again. "What's wrong? What happened?"

"She's gone," he said frantically, his hands gripping the bars so tightly that his knuckles were turning white. "I took her back to her apartment after school, and I just went back there now to check on her. She's not there. I went to the diner, and her mom told me she ran out without any explanation."

"Where is she?" I demanded, not really expecting an answer. I paced in tight little circles, my body humming with the need to do something, to take action. If anything had happened to her…

"What the hell is Sebastian doing here?" Alec's voice called angrily from behind me. I didn't even bother looking back at him as his footsteps clomped down the path toward me.

"Clary's missing," I said rather than acknowledge his question. Alec stopped and his face showed his surprise.

"What do you mean, missing?" he said, eyes flicking back and forth between Simon and me. "Where could she have gone?"

"That's what I'd like to know." I rounded on Simon again, trying not to show how afraid I was. "Where could she have gone?"

"I don't know, that's why I came here," he snapped.

"Aren't you supposed to be the best friend or something?" I said, my eyes raking him coldly.

He met my gaze with an equal amount of ice. "Aren't you supposed to be the boyfriend or something?" he retorted coolly.

We stared each other down for a moment before I allowed, "Touché."

Distantly, I heard Alec's phone ring and his quiet voice as he was a rushing sound in my ears, and I felt a little dizzy. No. This could not be happening. I would not let anything happen to Clary because of me. What if she'd gone out looking for me? What if Raphael had tracked her down again? If anything happened, it would be my fault.

"Call her," Simon commanded.

"Haven't you tried that already?"

"She won't pick up for me," he said, his frustration seething in his voice. "She keeps sending me to voicemail."

"What makes you think she'd do any differently for me?" But I was already reaching into my pocket, groping for my phone. She'd never rejected a call from me before. If I could just hear her voice, just be sure she was okay, then maybe it would lessen the suffocating panic that was choking me.

My hand came up empty. I paused, confused, and then searched the other pocket. Nothing.

"My phone is gone," I said, and Simon groaned, letting his head fall against the bars of the gate.

"Where could it be?" he asked. "We need to reach her. She disappears a lot, but usually it has something to do with you." He flashed me an accusatory look, as if I were responsible for her sometimes reckless tendencies.

"Not this time," I said, raking my hands through my hair. "I haven't heard anything from her."

"Can you at least let me in?" said Simon, a note of dryness in his voice. I unlocked the gate and let it swing open, allowing him access. He stepped inside, shaking the feeling back into his hands.

"Jace," said Alec's voice, and there was a strange note in it that caused both Simon and me to turn around. His face was pale, his eyes wide. "Magnus just called."

"Okay?" I said impatiently. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"He told me he just gave Clary a ride to Central Park."

"He did _what?" _Simon exclaimed incredulously. "He just dropped her off there? Is he insane?"

"That's not all." Alec's eyes zipped nervously between us. "He was worried, because he said that she told him she was going to meet…you there." His gaze settled on me, and I looked back at him, mystified.

"I didn't tell her to meet me there," I said slowly.

"Magnus said that you sent her a text," Alec said.

"But you said you can't find your phone," said Simon. Sudden outrage twisted his features. "I'll bet you it was Sebastian! He's always following her around like a lost puppy. If he lays a hand on her again, I swear—"

"It wasn't Sebastian," I interrupted. "He's currently semi-conscious in my living room."

Simon looked taken aback. "So if you didn't tell her to meet you, and Sebastian didn't, then who did?"

My eyes met Alec's, and I could see my own dismay reflected in his face.

"We have to go," I said. "Now."

**~Clary's POV~ **

I shivered as the temperature started to drop steadily the farther the sun went down. I was sharply reminded of the last time I'd been at Central Park, at night no less, when Raphael had followed me and tried to "warn" me off Jace's attacker.

I firmly told myself that nothing like that was going to happen this time, but there was this strange, nauseous feeling in my stomach that kept the reassurance from doing its magic.

As I entered the trees, my eyes zipped back and forth, searching for Jace. He'd said he could see me from where he was standing—so why couldn't I see him yet?

"Jace?" I called in a whisper, not entirely sure why I was keeping my voice soft, but instinctively doing so anyway. "Jace," I hissed. "If you're hiding, I swear—"

There was a crackling sound, like a foot coming down on dead leaves. I froze, straining my ears toward the direction the noise had come from. Jace wouldn't try to sneak up on me and scare me…not after what had happened today. I was absolutely certain of that.

"There you are, Clary!"

My heart almost leaped up my throat and out my mouth, it scared me so bad. The initial startle was followed immediately by confusion.

It wasn't Jace's voice.

It wasn't even male.

I spun around, ready to run or fight or both. A figure stepped delicately out from behind a tree, sweeping her long, dark hair over her shoulder.

I relaxed. "Isabelle," I said in relief. "You scared me."

"Sorry," she said calmly.

"What are you doing out here?" I demanded. "Did Jace bring you? Has he told you what's going on?"

"Jace isn't here yet," she said apologetically.

My mind skipped over her words like they didn't matter. "It's Sebastian, Isabelle," I blurted out. "He's the one that attacked Jace that night. He may still be after him. It could happen at any moment. He's dangerous, and we have to tell someone."

To my shock, Isabelle smiled. "Don't be silly, Clary," she said. "How could Sebastian possibly be behind all this?"

"All the evidence is there," I argued. "He tried to throw me off the trail by sending me after Magnus. He blackmailed Alec. He acted like he wanted to find Jace's attacker as much as I did." My anger boiled over, seeping into my voice until it vibrated. "And Jace remembers something. He remembers black eyes. Eyes like Sebastian's. Don't you see, Isabelle? It has to be him!"

I expected Isabelle to have some sort of shocked reaction, but instead her smile widened, and she let off a tinkling laugh. "Clary," she said, shaking her head. "You're so naïve. Sebastian isn't nearly capable enough to have done all of this."

"Who else could it be?" I exclaimed impatiently. "You have to believe me, Isabelle. We have to find Sebastian—"

"It wasn't Sebastian," she said bluntly. I looked at her, uncertainty replacing my outrage.

Suddenly, I noticed something clutched in her right hand, something sickeningly familiar. My heart dropped with dread. "Isabelle," I said slowly. "Why do you have Jace's phone?"

"I had to find some way of getting you here," Isabelle said dismissively.

I took one slow step back. "If it wasn't Sebastian, then who attacked Jace?"

Isabelle smiled, her black eyes flashing. "Me."

* * *

_Right now, you may be thinking, "Bwhaaaaaa?! Isabelle? But nothing in the story pointed to her being the culprit!" But rest assured, there are small hints here and there if you look... And all will be explained in the next few chapters, promise!_

_And...er...this is where a few select characters (cough Isabelle cough hack) get OOC. I guess that's...that's kind of obvious now... _

_Did anyone guess who it was? I will slap you a high five if you did, because you're awesome._

_Thanks so much for reading and reviewing! _


	35. Chapter 35

I could only look at Isabelle, uncomprehending. Her words didn't make sense. There she stood, her hands clasped neatly in front of her; she was dressed stylishly and immaculately as always. Her hair was perfect, her nails freshly done, her makeup carefully applied. She was smiling at me, and she looked so utterly normal, like the same Isabelle Lightwood I'd seen almost every day for three years.

There was no way she was serious. There was no way she was telling the truth.

"What?" I said. My voice sounded far away. There was a little catch of incredulous laughter in it, a desperate prompt to get her to laugh with me, to tell me she was joking. I was waiting for her friends to jump out of the trees and yell, "_Gotcha!" _

"Come on, Clary," said Isabelle, still smiling. Her teeth were white and straight, perfect as the rest of her. "Please tell me you're smarter than this. It's not really that hard to understand."

"It can't be you," I said stupidly. "It all points to Sebastian."

"I like you, Clary," said Isabelle. "Well, I sort of respect you, at the very least. You seem like a nice girl. So I'm going to take the time to help you understand. Let me stress that if it were anyone else, I wouldn't bother," she added, like she was granting me this huge honor.

I shook my head mechanically. "Isabelle?" I sounded small and confused, questioning, begging for her to contradict what she was telling me now.

"I'd better start with the obvious. You seem to have the most difficulty grasping that part," she said, folding her arms over her chest. Her eyes never wavered from my face. Her lips were still turned up at the corners, and that small smile hovering around her mouth, the blankness in her eyes, was what caused fear to start seeping through me, breaking through the dumbfounded numbness that had been controlling me.

"I attacked Jace," she said, so normally, so calmly. Oblivious to the fact that she was shattering everything I thought I'd known.

"Why?" I choked. "Why would you do that? He's your brother, Isabelle. How could you?"

"He's not my brother." Dark bitterness crept into her voice. "He never was, and he never will be. He crawled up to our doorstep and wormed his way into my parents' hearts, like he does with everyone else. For seven years I've endured him taking the spotlight. My parents shower him with attention—they spoil him rotten. He gets whatever he wants. He can turn on that smile of his, and no one knows any better. And no one even gets what kind of person he is. How dark his core is." She paused, and her eyes stared past me, unseeing.

"He's good," I whispered, my head spinning. I reached out and steadied myself against a nearby tree, afraid I would fall over. "He's a good person, Isabelle. And he loves you."

"He loves me?" Her voice arched hysterically, her eyes snapping back to my face, now glaring. That little smile had gone, and now she looked furious, blazing, crazed. "All he's ever wanted is to ruin me," she hissed, and there was something frighteningly unstable about her, about the look in her eyes. "All he's ever wanted is to take everything I have, because whatever he has is never enough."

"What are you talking about?" I said.

"I hate him," she said venomously, causing me to flinch. "He has everything. He wants me gone. He wants me to feel pain." Her eyes looked wild, flicking over her shoulder with the urgency of her paranoia. "My parents love him more than they love me. Ever since he came here, they have."

"That's not true," I said, trying my best to sound soothing, even though my heart was hammering. "They love you all the—"

"They _don't_ love us all the same!" she cried, her voice harsh and sharp as a whip. "Do you know what I am to them? I'm the 'troubled daughter.' I'm the one they don't know what to do with. I'm the one that causes them nothing but pain, the one where they wonder 'where did we go wrong?' And I shouldn't be that way. Jace never should have replaced me. And I'm going to make things go back to the way they used to be, seven years ago, before he came along and ruined everything."

Suddenly she was back to the old Isabelle, her blazing eyes turning calm again. She smiled at me, and I took an involuntary step back, staring at her in horror.

"Oh, Clary, you don't have to look so scared of me," she said teasingly. "It's just little old Isabelle, remember? Completely non-threatening, defenseless, oblivious Isabelle, clinging to her big, protective brother. That's what you always thought about me, isn't it?"

"You're none of those things," I said, though I wasn't sure whether I meant it as an insult or a compliment.

She took it as the latter apparently, because she looked pleased. "You're right," she said. "I'm very dangerous."

Then she reached out a hand to me, causing me to instinctively recoil. "I won't hurt you," she said, but I didn't miss the unspoken but implied _yet. _

I clenched my hands into fists and tried to stare her down. My feelings were still a roiling mass of confusion, disbelief, and ever growing fear. Why had she brought me here? Why go to the trouble of stealing Jace's phone and using it to lure me to the park?

What did she want from me?

"I would listen to me," said Isabelle with a wink. "Raphael is lurking around here somewhere, and he's more than willing to help out with a lack of cooperation."

Immediately, my fear spiked at the mention of Raphael's name. My eyes darted around the shadowed trees, searching for him, but I could see nothing. Isabelle could be bluffing…but I couldn't take that chance.

Steeling myself, I reached out and took her hand, and allowed her to draw me deeper into the trees.

**~Jace's POV~**

"Where is he?" I slammed my palm against the outside of the gate, causing it to rattle loudly.

Alec watched me with darkened eyes, standing still and tense at the edge of the sidewalk. "He's on his way," he answered. "Just be patient, Jace. It'll be faster than taking a taxi. Magnus drives like a maniac."

"I think I'd feel safer in a taxi," said Simon, looking a little nervous.

"And we'd already be on our way by now," I growled, clenching and unclenching my fists and trying to fight the urge to punch something. We were standing outside the cathedral; Alec had called Magnus to pick us up and drive us to Central Park. Magnus had claimed that he was nearby, but it seemed like we'd been waiting for ages, wasting time we didn't have.

"Just wait," Alec insisted stubbornly.

I fisted my hands again, trying to hide the fact that they were shaking. The last of the light was leaving; I could remember the last time Clary had been in Central Park alone, at night. It had ended with me carrying her unconscious body back to my house. That time, Raphael had only gone to try to scare her off of snooping around for clues. This time, I was certain she had been called there for more than just a slap on the wrist.

I shut my eyes and inhaled, tried to regain some calm. _Just be all right, Clary, _I silently pleaded.

"Hold on," a familiar and very unwanted voice said. "I want to come with you."

I gritted my teeth hard. "Go back inside, Sebastian," I said in a steely voice. "Or leave. Or jump off a bridge. Whatever works best for you."

Sebastian emerged from within the front gate, his black eyes emotionless and steady as ever. He looked more alert now, as if his mini nap had revitalized him. "We have our differences, Jace," he said calmly, "but I do care about Clary. I want to make sure she's safe."

I barked out a laugh. "You're the last person who deserves to know about her safety, Sebastian, considering the way you forced yourself on her this afternoon."

Sebastian tipped his head slightly to the side. "You'd have a better chance of helping her if I was there," he said softly. I met his eyes, prepared to refuse him again, but was startled into silence by the look on his face. It was determined, intense, and I realized that, in his own slightly twisted way, he did care about Clary. That didn't exactly make me any more chummy toward him; in fact, if anything, it made me feel more resentful than ever.

"Just let him come, Jace," said Simon, surprising all of us. "The more people we have as backup, the better. She told me about that guy Raphael," he added. "Sounded dangerous. And sometimes it helps to fight danger with danger." He looked pointedly at Sebastian.

"I'm not riding in the same car as him," Alec said disgustedly, and there was cold rage in his eyes when he looked at Sebastian.

"Then stay here," Sebastian suggested coolly. His eyes flashed daggers at Alec, and sparks seemed to pop between them.

Alec folded his arms over his chest and glared at Sebastian, clearly having no intention of staying behind.

I threw up my hands. "Look, I don't care, okay? Come or stay, whatever you want. I just need to get to Clary."

I heard the sound of screeching tires, and turned my head to see a brilliant yellow Camaro come swinging around the corner, speeding toward us at an unholy speed given the crowded street. It came to a swift and surprisingly graceful stop at the curb in front of us.

I had the front door open the second the car wasn't moving, throwing myself into the passenger seat. Alec and Simon crawled into the back, and Sebastian slid smoothly in last. I glanced back to see Simon squished between the two of them, and I took a moment to enjoy his discomfort.

Magnus raised an eyebrow at me. "Quite the hunting party you've rounded up," he said. "Wouldn't have expected this little band of misfits to tag along."

He glanced in the rearview mirror. "Sebastian," he said calmly, "if you so much as look at Alec funny, I will personally throw you out of my moving car. Is that clear?"

"Crystal," Sebastian replied, sounding uninterested.

"Hi, Alec," Magnus added lightly, as if they were meeting up for lunch.

Alec went red from his hairline to his chin, as if Magnus had just said something incredibly mortifying. I didn't have much time to worry about his complicated relationships or his embarrassment about them.

"Drive," I ordered Magnus grimly.

"You're the boss," said Magnus, and stomped on the gas pedal.

**~Clary's POV~**

"Where are you taking me?" I tried to sound collected, calm, but that was a very difficult feat. Isabelle kept a tight, painful grip on my hand, tugging me deeper into the park, farther away from the main paths. I couldn't keep myself from glancing constantly around, trying to catch a glimpse of Raphael among the trees, but I still couldn't see a thing.

"Somewhere a little more private," said Isabelle. "I said I wanted to offer you an explanation, remember? And an explanation you will get."

I was still reeling after what she'd told me. Did she really feel that strongly about Jace? Was she so jealous of the attention he got from her parents that she wanted him gone? That didn't make sense to me. How could she take such extreme measures over something that seemed so trivial?

And what had she meant, her parents thought of her as their "troubled daughter"?

Suddenly, Isabelle stopped, causing me to bump into her. We were in a small area surrounded by trees, their mostly bare branches reaching up to crisscross the sky with black threads. The sky was gray with twilight now; it wouldn't be long before it was completely dark.

"There," she said with satisfaction, dropping my hand. I flexed my fingers to get some feeling back into them. "This should do it."

"Why are you doing this, Isabelle?" I whispered, trying to control the tremor in my voice. "Why are you doing this to Jace? To your family? And why did you drag me into it?"

"You dragged yourself," she said. "If you had just stopped looking for me, this wouldn't have happened."

"I don't understand. I wasn't even close to figuring out it was you," I said numbly. "So why did you bring me here?"

"Remember what you told me that day in the bathroom, when Sebastian and Alec fought?" she said, bracing her hands on her hips. "You told me you had a lead. I couldn't be sure if you were telling the truth or not, but I couldn't take any chances. Imagine my disappointment when I hear that you thought it was Sebastian." She shook her head sadly and then shot me a mischievous smile.

I just stared at her, my mind still struggling to understand what was going on. It just wasn't possible. Not Isabelle. Not after all the times we'd talked, after I'd begun to think that she understood me, and I her. Now I was realizing that I didn't understand her at all, and it was likely that no one did.

"I'll start from the beginning, shall I?" she said brightly. "When my parents adopted Jace, I hated him from the moment I saw him. He played dumb, acted as sweet as can be, but he hated me just as much. He was after me. He wanted to replace me. He wanted to become Mommy and Daddy's little angel. I could see straight through him. But then, I've always been unusually perceptive." She smiled, pleased with herself.

"I hadn't been home for long when he came. That made things worse. My mother and father and Alec were supposed to be giving _me _their attention," she went on. "Not him. They were supposed to be happy that I was back. But they barely noticed me."

"Home from where?" I plucked up the courage to ask.

Her eyes darkened, and I regretted asking. "They sent me away," she said. "When I was little. They told me I was unwell, and that I needed a vacation. Sometimes they rephrased it and said I needed 'help.' Then the doctors said I was well enough to go home, and my parents said they had a surprise for me. The surprise turned out to be Jace."

It felt like the world had just frozen. Isabelle had gone away because she had been "unwell." Did that mean she had been sick in the mind? That she'd gone to some mental institution?

If that was true, it wasn't so hard to see how she could do this to Jace, to her family. She was unstable, and I should not be out here in the park with her, alone. I'd been so stupid to come here. So stupid not to suspect that anything was wrong when Jace had refused to talk to me over the phone and had only responded with texts; I hadn't even trusted my instincts when they warned me that something bad was going to happen. I was so, so stupid.

"I know I'm not well," said Isabelle delicately. "I'm not an idiot. But I hid it pretty well, if I do say so myself. Always turning on that smile for Mom and Dad, acting like everything's okay. Nothing is okay. Nothing has been okay for me, ever." There was anguish in her eyes, and a part of me wanted to reach out and comfort her, but I kept my distance. "But I couldn't let them send me away again. If I was gone, they would forget about me, and Jace would replace me for good. He would get what he wanted. I couldn't let that happen. So I pretended to be okay, and it worked, and I was free to plan."

"Plan?" I croaked.

"Plan to get rid of Jace," she said, nodding.

"Is that the whole reason you threw that party?" I asked raggedly. "To create a big enough distraction, to give yourself an agenda so you wouldn't be a suspect?"

She smiled. "Now you're getting it."

"What about Sebastian? Does he fit into this anywhere?" I was trying not to hyperventilate by this point. This was worse than when I'd encountered Raphael. He had been scary, intimidating, dangerous, but this was someone I knew. This was Isabelle. This was someone I'd begun to trust. And she was now telling me that she was crazy, that she'd been trying for years to murder the guy I was going out with.

"He does," she said. "He helped me with a few things. I never told him about the plan itself, of course. He was more than willing to do little favors for me here and there; he didn't need to know the motive behind them. But Sebastian's always been a sucker for a pretty face. That's probably why he glommed onto you." Her smile twisted a little bit. "I asked him if he could get a hold of Raphael Santiago. I'm not the sort of girl that has connections with people like him, and there was no way I was going to go hunting him down myself. That would be way too suspicious."

"So you asked Sebastian to get him for you," I said mechanically. "And he got to Raphael through Mona."

"Never heard of a Mona," Isabelle said with a slight frown. "But I don't really care about Sebastian's methods. All I needed from him was Raphael. Sebastian's not stupid, and he knew I was up to something. I'm fairly sure he never figured out exactly what I was going to do, but he was getting dangerously close. So I told him that Raphael had done some pretty bad things, and that he would pin the blame on Sebastian if he got ideas about spreading rumors. Sebastian then decided he'd rather cover up his own tracks than try and figure out what I was up to, so he started blackmailing Alec to protect himself."

"You sound like you don't even care," I said, disgusted. "Alec is your brother. Sebastian was putting him through hell, and you knew about it, and you didn't do anything to stop it?"

"I was just happy that Sebastian had something to occupy his time," she answered with a slight shrug. "And Alec can take care of himself." She sounded utterly unconcerned, and I began to doubt that Isabelle was even capable of caring about anything at all, aside from herself. Was that part of whatever was wrong with her? The inability to care for others like she should?

"Seb does help from time to time," she said. "He got me Jace's phone today, for instance. When Jace chased him down, Seb nabbed it out of his pocket and left it where I could find it. Nice, huh? And he's willing to help with anything that concerns you, that might keep you safe. He agreed to go and tell you about what Jace planned to do to you at the party, because he hoped that if you knew and hated Jace enough, you would forget about him. You would go running into Sebastian's arms." She smiled coyly. "I didn't care about his motives. I wanted him to tell you so you would forget about trying to find me." She frowned. "It didn't work out that way, though."

"You drugged Jace's drink," I said, my throat dry.

She held up a finger. "Raphael did," she corrected. "He did most of the dirty work for me. He distracted Sebastian, and everyone else, really. He's quite the party animal when he wants to be." She grinned, a slightly manic grin that gave me the urge to back away again. "I put the idea in Jace's head that he should go looking for you, seeing as how you didn't show up to the party. I never meant for him to actually get to your diner. I didn't mean to get you involved at all," she said, sounding almost apologetic. "But after I stabbed him, I got the hell out of there, and he was so determined to get to you that he managed to keep going. The little demon dragged himself all the way to your diner. I guess I should have been more careful about getting the job done, huh?" She laughed, a playful, tinkling sound that sent a chill up my spine.

I was horrified. She talked about it so casually. She had meant to kill Jace. She seemed more than willing to try again. She had no remorse, no shame, no regret.

"Why are you telling me this?" I whispered, feeling as if I couldn't breathe. "What if I go to the cops?" I slid my hand very, very slowly into my back pocket, wrapping my fingers around my phone. I paused, waiting to see if she'd noticed the movement, but she was looking off into the trees with a thoughtful expression.

"I told you, I wanted to give you an explanation," she said. "And you won't get the chance to tell the cops."

I squeezed my phone hard, and then moved my thumb along it, wondering if I would be able to dial 911 without looking. My heartbeat was thundering in my ears, my head spinning, my knees weak.

"You are a good girl, Clary," said Isabelle, giving me a pitying look. "A little too good, a little too trusting. And a little too nosy, I might add. This wouldn't have happened if you'd just butted out."

"I couldn't," I gasped as she moved closer to me, drifting like a shadow, her hands clasped casually behind her back. "I was a suspect. I had to clear my name."

"Oh, come on," she scoffed. "You don't honestly think the cops would have convicted you, do you? They had no concrete evidence. You weren't even the most likely candidate. They aren't stupid; they knew that something went on at Pandemonium Club that night. They were checking it out in a more…quiet manner. You were a possibility, of course, so they kept tabs on you, but you were hardly in danger of being sent to prison."

I stared at her, shocked speechless. How did she know all this? Why wasn't she afraid of the fact that the cops knew about her party?

"They don't know it was my party," she added, as if she could read my thoughts. "And they never will. They just know there are more options open to them. They wouldn't suspect the victim's adoptive sister, not in a million years." She winked at me. I hated how lighthearted she was being, deceptively friendly. She was going to do something to me, something awful, and she was acting like it was no big deal.

"No," she went on, stepping even closer. My thumb brushed over my keypad, frantically trying to feel out the right numbers. If she even suspected what I was doing… "The real reason you couldn't forget about the case is because you love Jace."

I went still, watching her as she wandered toward me. "Don't feel too bad. A lot of people get sucked into his web of lies," she added reassuringly. "He's had so many girls fall for him that he doesn't even notice it anymore. Until you came along, that is. You're different, for some reason." She studied me like I was a complex piece of art, a code she needed to crack. "He notices you," she said slowly. "And, incredibly, he feels the same way about you that you feel about him."

I was too tense to feel anything at her words; right now, Jace was a million miles away, out of reach. He couldn't help me. What did it matter if he…loved me? If I died here, it wouldn't make any difference.

"Stop playing games with me," I whispered. "Get it over with."

She blinked at me in surprise. "Get what over with?"

"Whatever you're going to do to me."

"Oh," she said with a small laugh. "I'm not going to do anything yet. I brought you here for two reasons: one, because you were getting a little too close to the truth for comfort, and two, because I need Jace. And what better way to bring him running than you?"

"You don't need me for that," I sad breathlessly. "Why didn't you just ask him to meet you?"

"He wouldn't have come. He thinks I'm crazy," she said dismissively. "He keeps his distance, most of the time. Although, he's never considered that I might be dangerous. Strange, that."

"Why do you have to kill him? Why do you have to lure him here with me?" I whispered.

"Well, firstly, I already explained why I have to kill him," she answered patiently. "And I'm not just using you as bait, darling."

I looked at her, uncomprehending, and that unsettling smile spread across her lips again.

"I told you I hated him. I used to have nightmares about him, nightmares where he would come to my room in the middle of the night and choke me. At some point, those dreams blended with reality. The dreams were a sign, I'm sure of it. They're telling me that if he had the chance, he would kill me, too." Her pale hand flexed, claw-like. "And ever since he survived the first time, it hasn't really improved my opinion of him. I want him to suffer in every way I can make him," she said.

She stared at me with her black eyes, and moments before she spoke again, it all fell into place in my head.

"He's going to watch you die," she said.

**~Jace's POV~ **

After narrowly avoiding the third almost-accident since leaving my house, Magnus finally swerved to a crooked stop outside Central Park. "This is where I dropped her," he said, nodding at the entrance.

I shoved the door open without saying anything else. I knew it was unfair to blame Magnus for this, but if he hadn't so willingly dropped her off, maybe she wouldn't be in this mess. Not that I wasn't grateful that he'd called us and then driven us here, but still.

"Thank you, Magnus," I heard Alec say quietly behind me as more car doors slammed. Simon hurried to catch up with me, Sebastian loping along behind us. Alec had already decided to wait by the car with Magnus, in case we needed "back-up." I wasn't sure if that was his real motive, or whether it was his aversion to Sebastian, a wish for more time with Magnus, or a combination of everything.

At any rate, it was just Simon, Sebastian, and me now. If they both ran headlong into a black hole and were transported to another dimension, I wouldn't have noticed. I was completely focused on Clary, on getting her back, on making sure that she was never in danger again.

"Where could she be?" Simon panted. "This place is huge."

It only took me a moment to think. "We should check by one of the gazebos," I decided.

"Why there?" Simon asked, his eyebrows drawing together.

"We have a history there," I replied, and Simon scowled, disliking the connotations in that sentence. I couldn't resist a glance at Sebastian, but his expression remained unchanged.

"Why don't you just try calling her?" Sebastian suggested coolly as we all but ran in the direction of the gazebo.

"That's—" I began, but Simon brightened and had his phone out in a split second.

"Good idea!" he said, and speed dialed her.

"I don't think you should," I said. "Hang up the phone, Simon."

He glared at me. "We have to figure out where she is. There's no guarantee she'd be at that stupid historical gazebo of yours," he snapped. "Just let me do this."

I had a bad feeling in my stomach, and it wasn't just the twinge of my stab wound acting up. What if she was in a situation where the ringing of her phone would give her away? What if she was hiding somewhere, and there was something hunting her down?

"Simon," I said, more urgently. "Don't—"

He already had the phone up to his ear, keeping well out of my range, giving me a defiant look as my heart dropped through the soles of my feet.

**~Clary POV~**

_9. _I was almost certain I'd found it. I traced my thumb over the other buttons, feeling my way toward the 1. I wasn't sure how I'd go from there; could I turn and run away and do my best to tell the police my location before Isabelle—or, worse, Raphael—caught up to me?

I had pressed the 1 only once when the phone began to buzz loudly in my hand, causing me to jump violently.

Isabelle tilted her head to one side and gave me a knowing smile. "I always forget about cell phones," she said, slapping her forehead. "Silly me." She held out one manicured hand. "Hand it over, Clary."

I held it tighter. "No," I said, trying my best to sound hard and bold.

"Don't make this any harder than it has to be," she sighed. "I thought you didn't want Raphael to get involved."

There was no use hiding it now. I whipped the phone out from behind my back, stabbed the "answer" button, glimpsing Simon's name as I did so, and held it to my ear.

"Simon!" I shrieked into the phone, even as the smile slid from Isabelle's face and a look of rage replaced it. She lunged at me, her fingernails raking my cheek, her other hand wrenching the phone out of my grasp with startling strength. In the next moment, a shadow had melted out of the trees behind me, tall and silent, and inescapable arms wrapped around me form behind, pulling me hard against someone's chest.

"Nice to see you again, Clary," Raphael's accented voice chuckled in my ear. "We should sometime meet under more pleasant circumstances, no? Perhaps we can get coffee sometime."

I could feel small lines of blood trickling down my cheek from where Isabelle had scratched me, the cuts stinging harshly in the cold air. Isabelle patted her hair down and looked down at the screen of my phone, which was now dark. She must have hung up.

"That," she said, no longer smiling, no longer teasing and light, "was a mistake."

**~Jace POV~**

Suddenly, the scowl slipped off of Simon's face, the color leaving it. "Clary?" he said into the phone, and the panic in his voice ignited my own. "Clary, is that you? Where are you? Can you hear me? Are you still there? _Clary?" _

I was in front of him in an instant. "Is she there? Is she okay?" I demanded.

He lowered the phone slowly until it hung limply at his side. "She screamed my name," he said numbly. "That was all. And then there was a crackling sound, and she hung up."

We stood looking at each other for a moment. My breathing came heavily, my fingernails biting into my palms as I curled them into fists.

"We have to find her," Simon whispered, still white as a ghost.

"Then what are we waiting for?" Sebastian strode ahead of us, his hands buried in his pockets. "No time to waste."

He was right on that point. But I was done playing hide-and-seek. She needed me, and she needed me now.

I started running.

**~Clary's POV~**

"Kill me then," I snarled, struggling ferociously against Raphael's unbreakable hold. He didn't even budge. "Do whatever you're going to do and get it over with."

"I told you, we're waiting for Jace," Isabelle growled. She cast a disdainful look down at my phone, which still sat in her hand. "Does this have any sort of tracking device in it?"

I wasn't sure whether it did or not, so I didn't answer.

Abruptly, she dropped my phone, letting it free fall to the ground. A moment later, she brought her dangerously pointed high heel down on top of it. She did it a second time, and a big crack appeared in the screen.

"Just to be safe," she said softly. I couldn't tell what had been more frightening: her light, smiling attitude, or the way she was now, hard and cold. It was like I had just crossed a line by trying to contact someone, by attempting to foil her perfect plan.

"Someone's going to find out," I said hoarsely. "It doesn't matter if it's tonight or in twenty years, but sooner or later, everyone will know it was you."

"Doubtful," she answered. "I'm quite good at covering up my tracks. Which means that this little phone call stunt you just pulled needs to be taken care of." She adopted a thoughtful expression again. "It's a shame, too," she added. "I like Simon. He's endearing in that geeky little way of his."

"What are you talking about?" I gasped as Raphael's arms constricted, responding as I tried to wrench away from him.

"He knows something's up," she told me. "He has to, since you just screamed your lungs out into the phone. He's going to tell someone, or come looking for you, and if he finds anything, I'll have no choice but to make sure he doesn't tell."

"Don't hurt Simon," I pleaded. "He didn't do anything. Don't you dare lay a hand on him."

"Let's hope he's smart enough to stay away," was all she said.

"How do you know that there aren't people that know I'm here?" I demanded, once again trying and failing to jerk out of Raphael's hold.

"Because I know you have a nasty tendency of running headlong into things without taking the proper precautions," Isabelle answered. "Like the first time when you came to meet Jace here, for instance. Raphael had no trouble following you. You came alone, and no one knew where you were. And you seem to like keeping secrets where Jace is concerned. I figured that if I acted like he was the one that asked you here, you wouldn't be too keen to tell your mom where you were going."

Someone did know, I thought, a tiny bubble of hope rising in my chest. Magnus had been the one to drive me here. But would he tell anyone? How long before people noticed I'd been gone too long? And even then, would he connect the dots? Would he realize that something was wrong?

"He'd better come soon," Raphael complained. "It's freezing out here. And I have better things to do."

"I'm sure you do," said Isabelle in a bored voice. "But it's about to get exciting here, so I suggest you stick around."

"How is Jace even going to find me?" I demanded. "He doesn't know I'm in Central Park, let alone in this deserted little area."

"I know Jace," Isabelle purred. "He'll find a way to get to you. If he doesn't come in another ten minutes, I'll be forced to call him. You know, play the concerned sister who saw you wandering into the park, and who fears for your safety." She draped her arm theatrically across her forehead.

"Such a drama queen," said Raphael dryly.

I hoped he wouldn't come. For the first time, I hoped that he didn't care enough about me; I hoped he wouldn't do this for me. Because if he came here, he would be dead. I would rather be the one to die. The idea of him coming here, of him being hurt, killed, was unbearable. It was my fault for being so recklessly stupid. If I hadn't come here, we wouldn't be in this mess.

_Stay away, Jace, _I begged. _Just please stay away._

**~Jace POV~**

I was reaching my breaking point.

We'd been searching the area around the gazebo for what felt like hours. We were expanding outward, searching everywhere, but Clary was nowhere to be seen. Of course she wouldn't be hanging out in the gazebo; I'd been stupid to expect to see her there.

"Should we call the cops?" Simon asked desperately. "They're more equipped to handle this than—"

"No," I interrupted. "Whoever this is, they don't want police involvement. It only makes things worse. We can't involve them until we know Clary isn't in a position where she can be hurt. We call the cops, Clary might end up dead." It would only take a moment to end her life. The twitch of a finger, the twist of a hand.

"He's right," Sebastian said as Simon opened his mouth to protest. He didn't elaborate further, but the grim certainty in his voice convinced Simon, who turned even paler.

"Then what do we do?" Simon said. "Do we just keep turning in circles, looking for her? We aren't going to get anywhere doing this."

"Maybe we should split up," Sebastian said. "It could—"

Simon's phone rang suddenly, cutting Sebastian off. He fumbled with it, his eyes wild with hope. A moment later, he looked confused. "It's Isabelle," he said, frowning.

I stared. "Why do you have Isabelle's number?"

Simon's face started to turn red. "She gave it to me," he mumbled, hunching his shoulders a little. "At school."

I decided to ignore this and said sharply, "Pick it up."

Simon obeyed, holding the phone up to his ear. "Hello?" he said. He winced as a string of high-pitched words poured out of the phone. I couldn't understand them from where I stood, but Simon listened with eyes that grew more and more worried.

"What did she say?" I demanded once he had hung up.

"She said that she saw Clary disappear into the woods, near here," said Simon. "She went south, and looked like she intended to keep going straight." He gave me a puzzled look, the directions making little sense to him.

I felt my heart drop further. How could Isabelle have known that? I had a terrible feeling in my gut, but I didn't say anything to the others. I _couldn't_ say anything, not until I knew for sure.

"Come on," I said, heading south into the dense trees, hopefully heading in the right direction. To her.

* * *

_So Isabelle's going off the rails on a crazy train, eh? I know, I know, another cliffhanger. Feel free to pelt me with rotten fruit. But this part...is just so long...and...there is no choice. _

_Okay, maybe I'm being a tad melodramatic now. But I'll update soon, no worries! Thanks so much for reading and reviewing! I love getting your feedback, I read each and every one of your reviews and enjoy every word of them. _


	36. Chapter 36

_Time for some confrontational fun! I love writing this stuff. _

* * *

**Clary POV**

Raphael was bored. Isabelle had disappeared into the trees, with no indication of when she'd be back. Without her to keep him in check, he seemed eager to find a way to entertain himself. And I was the only one around.

"You're so small," he said in a curious voice. "And light as a feather." He shoved me to the ground. I tried to push myself back to my feet, but he kicked me in the side, and I landed heavily in the dirt again. "You're not terribly smart, either, are you? Coming here."

I gritted my teeth and didn't give him the satisfaction of answering. I didn't make a single sound as he grabbed my arm and used it to pull me roughly upright. He stared at me for a moment, as if trying to make sense of me. Then he backhanded me across the face, so hard that I tasted blood.

Again, I stayed silent, choking back the cry that tried to escape me. "You're tough, I'll give you that," he said. "And fairly brave. You haven't burst into tears or anything yet."

I fought the urge to swear at him. Even that would be letting him win. I stared at the ground, until he took my chin and forced my head up so that I had no choice but to look at him.

"You're no fun," he pouted. "No crying, no screaming, no begging for mercy."

"Let me go," I said, the words spilling out before I could stop them. "You don't have to do this, Raphael. You don't have to listen to her. She doesn't own you."

"Of course not. But she is paying me." He grinned and put his hands on my arms as if to steady me, only to slam my back into the nearest tree. He kept his hands on my shoulders, keeping me in place. "And I'll do a lot of things for money, _chica." _

And then I heard something that was both blessedly beautiful and horrific. "I would remove my hands from her if I were you, Raphael. Unless you want to have your teeth knocked out of your head, that is."

Raphael stiffened and then a feral grin spread across his face. "That was much sooner than was expected," he remarked, turning around. He kept one hand on my shoulder, like a casual touch between friends, except his fingers were squeezing hard enough to leave bruises.

And there he was, standing just a few yards away, arms crossed over his chest, stance casual, eyes blazing with cold fury. He looked like an avenging angel, beautiful and dangerous. He looked like he had in my drawing. And he should not be here.

"Jace," I whispered, and closed my eyes against the heartbreaking sight of him. Now that he was here, he was doomed. We both were. He must have known the danger, and still he came.

"Step away, Raphael," Jace said dangerously. "I let you get off painfully easy last time."

"You took the words right out of my mouth," Raphael answered. He shoved me to the ground and Jace tensed, ready to run to my side, but Raphael was there, standing between us. He grinned, flashing his teeth in the dark. "Fight me then, _amigo."_

Jace's eyes flickered in my direction, and then he threw himself at Raphael. Raphael dodged gracefully, skipping out of range, smiling broadly like he was having the time of his life. This was what Raphael lived off of, I realized. The danger of this lifestyle, of breaking the law and gladly taking whatever consequences he received in return, just to relish in whatever pain he might get to inflict. He craved the adrenaline and the peril of it all.

Jace spun around, so quick my brain could barely process his movements. He swept Raphael's legs out from under him in one move, and then he was kneeling on the other boy's chest, punching him hard in the face. Raphael rolled, shoving Jace off of him, and suddenly their positions were reversed. Raphael wrapped his hands around Jace's throat and started squeezing.

"Don't threaten me," Raphael panted, his fingers constricting. "I thought I'd taught you this lesson once before."

Jace's eyes bulged and his hands gripped Raphael's arms, muscles straining as he tried to break the other's grip.

I scrambled to my feet and looked wildly around for a weapon. There was nothing but a broken branch lying not far away. Having no other options, I went for it, scooping it up and then racing over to where Raphael was throttling the life out of Jace.

I swung the stick with all my might, and it crashed into Raphael's head. He swore in Spanish and rolled away, clutching his skull. Jace bolted upright, dragging in a deep breath of air. Our eyes met for a moment, and then Raphael was on his feet, glaring murderously at me.

"Stupid bitch," he snarled, grabbing me by the upper arm, lifting his other to hit me.

Jace had his arms wrapped around Raphael's neck in an instant, cutting off his airways and dragging him forcibly away from me. For the first few steps Raphael just pulled me along with him, his eyes bugging out of his head, but then he lost his grip on me and I managed to stagger away.

Jace was squeezing, squeezing, his eyes bright with enraged fire, and Raphael sank awkwardly to his knees, pulling Jace down with him. His face was turning purple in the dim light and his hands scrabbled desperately at Jace's arms, but he was unrelenting.

"Jace," I croaked, and then I tried again, this time my voice rising to a shout. "Jace, _stop! _You're killing him!"

Jace looked up at me, and for a moment he didn't seem to see me. All there was for him was his rage. He thought Raphael was the one who had brought me here, I realized. He thought Raphael was the one behind all of this. And he was willing to kill him for what he'd done.

I stumbled over to him and dropped to my knees beside him, grabbing his arm, trying to pull it away from Raphael's throat. "Stop," I begged. "You won. Jace, please stop."

He hesitated a second longer, and then, with a great amount of reluctance he released Raphael. Raphael collapsed, choking and gagging, his hands clutching his neck. Jace didn't spare him another glance. His eyes were all for me, looking me up and down. He took me by the arms, and the touch of his hands brought tears to my eyes.

"Are you all right? Did he hurt you?" he asked urgently.

I just shook my head, the lump in my throat preventing me from speech. I managed to get out, "I'm fine."

He pulled me to his chest, his hand holding my head against his shoulder. A tear squeezed out of my eye and plopped onto his shirt. For a moment, I could almost believe that everything was okay. We could leave now; we were going to be fine.

But then I heard her voice.

"This is the most touching scene I've seen all day," said Isabelle. "Two lovebirds embracing over the semi-conscious body of the villain they beat up together. Seriously, you can't make this stuff up."

Jace went rigid, his arms tightening around me. Slowly, he lifted his head; I pulled back from him and saw Isabelle standing just behind us, her hands on her hips, her lips twisted into a parody of a smile.

"Hi, Jace," she said, beaming at him. "Surprised?"

I watched Jace's face, waited for the shock, the betrayal. But it remained hard as stone, though something flickered behind his eyes, something he tried very hard to hide. "Not really," he said calmly. "I always knew you were out of your mind. I just didn't know it was this bad."

For a moment rage filled Isabelle's eyes, before she managed to control herself again. "I'm glad you found your way." She gestured to the small clearing we sat in. "I was worried you would keep us waiting all night."

Jace rose to his feet, taking me with him, keeping his arms tight around me. I could feel his heartbeat, racing in his chest. "So it was you, then," he said.

Isabelle shrugged modestly. "I had a little help along the way. Speaking of help." Her eyes raked the trees around us, taking in every shadow and shape. "You didn't happen to bring anyone with you, Jace, did you?"

I saw a muscle in Jace's jaw jump. "No," he said in a steely voice. "I came alone." I squeezed his arm hard, wishing he would look at me so that he'd see my glare. How could he have been so stupid? And yet I couldn't be angry with him, couldn't blame him for what he'd done. If our positions had been reversed, I would have come for him without a thought, without hesitation.

Isabelle gave him a sardonic little half-smile, a smile I'd seen her give him thousands of times at school. But now it looked different, sort of twisted, her eyes too bright in her face. "Jace," she said reproachfully. "Don't you think I know you well enough to know when you're lying?" Then she turned her back to us and said loudly, "You can come out now! I know you're here."

I was finding it difficult to breathe. I prayed that Jace had had the presence of mind to bring a team of police officers with him. Maybe we would be okay. Or if we could get out of here before Raphael woke up, Jace could easily overpower Isabelle, right? She may be unstable, but he was strong, fast, an excellent fighter.

Isabelle shot Jace a smile that seemed almost playful. "Come on, Jace. Who did you bring?"

Jace just stared back at her, his eyes peculiarly flat.

And then there was a rustling sound from the shadows, and a voice wafted toward us. "He brought us."

Jace's eyes closed, and I felt him inhale deeply against me. He hadn't planned for his backup to reveal themselves—at least, not so soon.

I twisted my head to see—my mouth nearly dropped open—Sebastian stepping out of the trees. His black eyes swiveled and fixed on me, and I felt like they were reaching toward me, trying to drag me away from Jace, from safety.

And from behind him came…

Simon?

"Simon!" My voice scratched my throat on the way out, high-pitched and panicked. "What are you doing here?"

He hung back, looking wary, looking from Jace and me to Isabelle and back again. "I had to come," he said simply.

I shook my head, denying it, hoping that if I closed my eyes right now, he would be gone when I opened them again.

Why did he have to come? Jace being in danger was bad enough. But Simon?

"Look, Isabelle," said Jace in a deceptively casual voice, with an undercurrent of loathing and fury. "I'm not trying to say that you're not an evil mastermind or anything. But you failed. Unless you think you and Raphael can team up and take on the rest of us…" He nodded his head at Sebastian and Simon, both of whom were staring holes into Isabelle. I couldn't help glancing at Simon, wondering what he thought about all this. He'd had a crush on Isabelle since freshman year; what must it be like to realize that she was a lunatic? But his eyes gave nothing away.

"Raphael," said Isabelle, still as calm as you like, her arms crossed loosely together. "Get up."

With a groan, Raphael obeyed, dragging himself painstakingly to his feet. He swayed for a moment, blinking like he was trying to focus his vision. Then he gave his head a quick, irritable shake, recovering himself, and even managed to put his feral smile back in place.

Why wouldn't that guy stay down? Was he nuts? Didn't he know when he was outnumbered?

"Hate to break it to you, Jacey," said Isabelle, and I noticed her deftly sliding her hand into her jacket. I instantly went on red-alert. "But I'm afraid you're the one that's outnumbered."

My eyes met Jace's, and I saw my confusion reflected in them. Were there others waiting in the trees? How many people had Isabelle hired to make sure we were taken out?

And then there was a harsh, cracking sound that reverberated around the tight clearing. Jace's arms went slack around me, his eyes rolled up into his head, and he crumpled to the ground.

I heard someone scream—was it me? It must have been—as he slipped from my grasp. I fell to my knees beside him, terror thrumming through my veins. I turned his face toward me, slapped his cheek, tried to get him to wake up, but he wouldn't. He was out cold.

"Jace," I heard myself gasping. "Jace, please wake up."

It felt like the rest of the world had faded around me. In the distance, in some other universe, I could hear Simon shouting. From the corner of my eye, I watched him launch himself at Sebastian, who stood over me, something hanging from his hand, something that had just smashed over Jace's head with enough force to knock him unconscious. I vaguely recognized it as the branch I'd used to hit Raphael. I saw Isabelle standing right where she had been, unmoved, _smiling. _Raphael was striding toward Sebastian and Simon, still grinning, enjoying himself.

That was what snapped me out of my terror-induced stupor. I lifted my head, watched as Sebastian drove his fist into Simon's stomach. Simon doubled over, eyes bugging, hands clutching his middle. Sebastian went for it again, and now Raphael had reached them, and he grabbed Simon by the back of his shirt, hauling him upright.

They couldn't gang up on him. I staggered to my feet, felt myself walking, too slowly, toward them. My hands closed around Sebastian's arm, pulling uselessly, and then my voice was yelling. Finally, my brain caught up, and the world ceased to spin in slow motion.

"Get out of the way, Clary," Sebastian growled in my ear, pushing me roughly aside. He turned back to Simon, whose nose dripped blood, who glared defiantly at Raphael even though he didn't stand a chance.

"Stop!" I screamed, taking a fistful of Sebastian's shirt, yanking until I heard the fabric rip. "Don't touch him!"

"Don't be so dramatic, Clary," I heard Isabelle say. She had the nerve to sound exasperated. "You can't expect him to be allowed to live, can you? He came here, after all. He's seen way too much."

I whirled around, throwing all of the hate I felt into my eyes as I looked at her. "Let him go, Isabelle," I snarled. "He has nothing to do with this—"

"He does now that he showed up," she responded. Her eyes shifted past me, and I turned to see that Simon was on the ground now, his arms up to protect his head as Sebastian and Raphael circled him like two hungry sharks.

I lunged toward him, hands reaching desperately, but Sebastian caught me and shoved me back again. I stumbled, barely managing to keep my footing.

"Please," I stuttered, tears pressing in the back of my throat, my breath coming in frantic gasps. "I will do anything. Just let Simon go."

Isabelle gave me a strange look. "You chose Jace," she said slowly, "but you're so desperate to protect Simon. You can't have both, you know."

"Simon is my _friend," _I spat. "But you wouldn't understand that."

"It's true," she said with a small shrug. "I don't understand the relationships that other people have. I don't feel things the way you feel them. I just don't _care. _Everyone always says it's some sort of mental defect. The doctors say that it's a bad thing, but honestly? I think it's the best thing that could happen. Nothing to hinder me. Nothing to slow me down. You should really try not caring sometime, Clary." Then she laughed.

How could she laugh now? How could she feel absolutely nothing for the boy that had been her brother for all intents and purposes for the past seven years, now unconscious at her feet? How could she smile as she watched the sweet, innocent boy who had crushed on her for years be beaten? How could she plan on killing us all without batting an eyelash?

"You're not even human," I said, my voice breaking at the end. "You're sick."

"I'll take that as a compliment," she said, tossing her hair. "Raphael, Seb—you can stop now."

Immediately, as if they were controlled by a remote, they stepped away. I barely registered the phone clutched in Sebastian's hand—Simon's. I threw myself at Simon, whose face was bloody and already swelling. I wrapped my arms around him, biting my lip hard to keep myself from bursting into tears. I couldn't bear to see him like this; his glasses were broken on the ground beside him, his gaze unfocused as he blinked up at me.

"I'm sorry," I said, my voice thick with tears. "I'm so sorry I got you into this, Simon. This is my fault."

He blinked again, like he was struggling to make sense of my words. "'S'okay," he finally said.

"Let's make sure Clary sticks around until her boyfriend wakes up," said Isabelle teasingly. "Wouldn't want him to miss the show."

One of the boys—I wasn't sure whether it was Sebastian or Raphael, and I didn't care—hauled me to my feet, away from Simon, whose head fell out of my lap and thumped against the ground. He shut his eyes, pale, exhausted, in pain, and I felt like my heart was being ripped in half. Jace was still lying on the ground not far away, and I was left to stand there and watch the two boys I loved most in the world as they suffered.

"You'll be fine, Clary," Sebastian said. So he had been the one to grab me, then.

"I knew you were bad," I hissed venomously over my shoulder. I tried to jerk out of his restraining arms, but he held fast. It was like the courtyard all over again, his unrelenting hands pinning me in place. At least he wasn't trying to make out with me this time. "I knew you played a part in what happened to Jace."

"Jace and I," Sebastian said slowly, "aren't friends. I won't be his shadow anymore."

"So you're going to let him die?"

His arms tightened around me. "He won't die," he growled. "Isabelle told me what she plans to do. He'll be fine."

I craned my neck around, trying to see him, but I was pinned against his chest. I couldn't glimpse his face. "That's what she told you? Hate to break it to you, Sebastian, but she lied. Like she lied to all of us. We're as good as dead, and you might be next."

I thought I felt him hesitate, felt uncertainty show through his cool exterior, but he said nothing, and he didn't release me.

Isabelle crouched beside Jace, tapping his cheek lightly with her hand. "Jace," she sang. "Time to wake up." He remained still, and I felt a bolt of fear shoot through me. What if he had a concussion? What if he was seriously injured?

Isabelle slapped him hard, jerking his head to the side. A few seconds passed, and then his eyes cracked open, a small moan slipping out of his mouth. His eyes focused on Isabelle, and he shot into a sitting position, tipping a little to the side as he did so.

"I bet you have a nasty headache," Isabelle said sympathetically. "Don't worry, it won't bother you for much longer. You'll have more important things to worry about. Like her, for instance." She pointed at me, and Jace's head swung around. The gold of his eyes flashed and sparked and popped, and he jumped to his feet, staggered a few steps sideways, regained his footing.

"Sebastian," he said, and I could tell that this was the surprise. A part of him may have suspected Isabelle, but he had believed that Sebastian was his friend, his ally. No matter their differences, he'd had trust in him. The look on his face now, shocked, full of hidden pain, was almost too much to bear.

That made me hate Sebastian all the more.

"Jace," Sebastian said, his breath ruffling my hair. "I'm glad I didn't hit you too hard." His voice was cold as ice.

"Let Clary go," said Jace, speaking through gritted teeth. "She has nothing to do with this. Whatever this is…it's between you, me, and Isabelle."

"Don't forget me," Raphael protested, eyes glinting with amusement from where he stood guard by Simon, who hadn't opened his eyes.

"I'm afraid she has a pretty big part in this, too, Jace," Isabelle chimed in, looking a little irritated that Jace's attention had been snagged away from her. "She knows about me. She knows too much, you could say."

Jace dragged his eyes away from me to look at her. "What are you saying?" His voice sounded choked with horror, and that ignited the fear inside of me.

"She has to die, Jace," Isabelle said, flashing me a look that seemed almost sad. But she had told me she didn't feel things like compassion and love toward others—it was part of the glitch in her brain. "And you get to watch it happen."

Several things happened then. Sebastian's arms constricted around me painfully. Jace lurched toward Isabelle, and I was certain he was going to try to choke her to death like he'd tried with Raphael, but then her hand whipped out of her coat pocket, and in it was grasped something long and slender that glittered in the faint light.

Time seemed to stop for a moment. My eyes were glued to the knife; it was like I was mesmerized by the way the moonlight shattered off its surface, the way she twirled it back and forth idly between her fingers.

I tore my eyes away, looked at Jace, and saw that the appearance of the dagger had a much more dramatic effect on him.

His eyes were huge, frozen to the knife. He looked like he'd forgotten the rest of us; all that existed was the weapon in Isabelle's hand.

Isabelle smiled, and the look of it made me shudder. It looked so unbalanced; her teeth glittered like the knife, and her black eyes were shadowed. "Look familiar?" she said, tossing it carelessly from hand to hand, handling it like an expert. Like she'd been practicing.

A sound got stuck in my throat. It had to be the knife that she had used on Jace weeks ago, the knife that had nearly killed him. For all of his bravery tonight, all of his bravado as he faced the truth that the girl who had been like a sister to him wanted to kill him, something in him responded at once to the fear that the sight of the dagger created. I could practically see his flashbacks now, feel his dread seeping through him.

He'd once told me that he had nightmares at night, remembering what Isabelle had done. Had he ever seen this very same knife flash in his mind? Did he wake up in a cold sweat, feeling as if it was still lodged in his stomach?

"Jace." My voice came out strangled. "Don't look at it."

The seconds passing seemed to stretch, turning into hours, maybe years for all I knew. And then, slowly, Jace blinked, and when his eyes opened again, they were fixed on Isabelle, not the deadly object in her hand.

"That's not going to stop me," he said, his voice coming out eerily even. "You're not going to hurt us, Isabelle. Not again."

"Oh, this? This is just for show, really," she said, flipping the knife between her fingers. "Just to strike a little much-needed fear into your heart. You're too brave for your own good, Jace. Where's the begging for mercy? The quivering with terror? You're really no fun at all. Clary is much better." She turned her head and smiled at me, and I fought the temptation to shrink away from her. Instead I stood taller, as much as I could while trapped in the circle of Sebastian's arms, and met her eyes.

Jace lunged forward, reaching for the knife, ready to knock it out of her hand. Isabelle skipped out of reach, laughing like they were playing a game of tag, and I realized in that moment that I hated her. I hated her for what she'd done to Jace, what she'd put us all through, and what she was trying to do now.

"Careful, Jace," Raphael said, slithering up to Isabelle's side. I could see the tension in Jace's muscles as he faced the two of them, clearly having no intention of being careful. His eyes were locked on Isabelle, and the anger and buried pain I saw in them made my chest ache.

"You're crazy," Jace said. "You always hated me because you thought I stole your place in the family, didn't you? Well, here's a newsflash: It's your own fault. You spent so much time hating everything and everyone that you pushed your family away. And now, you're going to lose whatever love they spared for you. What's Alec going to say when he finds out? Mom and Dad? Max?"

_Max? _I didn't know who that was, and at the moment, I didn't care.

"Jace," Isabelle said, shaking her head, a little smile on her face. "You don't understand. Sure, I hate you because you're trying to take my place. But the reason I'm trying to kill you is because you're trying to kill me."

Jace faltered, his face clouding with confusion. "What?"

"Don't try to deny it," she said. "I've had dreams about you. I've seen the way you look at me. I went through your room, and I found notes. You want me dead."

"That's not true," said Jace incredulously. I felt sick as I listened; how had Isabelle got to this point? How had she deluded herself into believing that Jace wanted to kill her? "You're out of your mind, Is."

Isabelle's smile slipped away, and now she observed Jace coldly. "You should watch what you say," she said. "You aren't really in any position to be insulting me, Jace."

"I have to say that I agree with her on that, _amigo," _said Raphael, and he held up his hand.

It was like I'd been thrown back in time, to a different spot in this park, with Raphael facing me on the path. His gun stared me in the face, then and now, a dark promise, a threat to our lives.

Jace had been convinced that it hadn't been loaded the first time. But now? When Isabelle planned on killing us both? I wasn't so sure.

"Sebastian," I whispered, hoping he could hear me. "Please. He's your friend. Don't let this happen."

"I told you," he said in a steely voice. "He's not my friend."

I tried to get my elbow up, tried to drive it into Sebastian's stomach, but he only squeezed his arms around me, causing me to gasp. I saw Jace twitch at the sound, but he didn't take his eyes off the gun aimed at him in Raphael's hand. He had gone very still, poised like an animal getting ready to flee.

"I'm bored," Isabelle declared. She stepped right over Simon, like he was a rug, and fury burned in the pit of my stomach. "And we can't stick around here forever. Eventually, someone's bound to stumble upon our little get together. And I really shouldn't hurt any more people than I have to."

"You don't have to hurt anyone," I managed to get out, my voice cracking.

"Funny," said Isabelle, lifting her head and staring into the trees. "That's what the doctors used to tell me. They always said that I had control over whatever I did. If I didn't want to, I didn't have to hurt anyone. But that was the problem. I _did _want to hurt people. They call that an illness, but I call it a strength. A well-toned natural instinct that most other people don't have. I have a willingness to hurt without feeling guilty about it. I consider that a talent."

I shivered again. How had she hidden this side of her so well before? How had she looked me in the eye and _cried _about what had happened to Jace? Did she really feel nothing, nothing at all? How was that possible? How had she even _gotten _this way?

Isabelle's head turned, her eyes cutting to me. "All right," she said, clapping her hands together like she was preparing to do something especially entertaining. "Let's get started, then."

Isabelle strode toward me, her hands clasped in front of her. Jace moved to follow her, but Raphael stepped into his path, holding the gun outward.

"I wouldn't," he said silkily, and Jace turned his gaze on him, black with rage and hate. I would have flinched away from a look like that, but Raphael just looked at him levelly, calmly, undaunted.

Isabelle stopped in front of me, peering into my face like she was looking for something specific. "I warned you away from Jace," she said reproachfully, like I'd done something disappointing. "I told you not to get involved. That was the best warning I could have given you, Clary. If you had listened, you wouldn't be here right now. And neither would he." She jerked her head at Simon. "So you have no one to blame but yourself."

"But Jace would still be here," I said hoarsely, forcing myself to meet her strangely empty eyes. "You would still be doing your best to kill him."

"True," she said with a nod.

"You're a monster," I whispered, and she gave me a rueful smile.

"Come on, Clary. Let's not fall into clichés."

I strained away from Sebastian, wanting to reach out and sock her, claw at her, do something to make her feel any kind of pain. Sebastian's arms stayed locked tight around me; I could feel his quick breath against the back of my neck.

"Let her go, Seb," Isabelle said without taking her eyes off me. "We're going to have some fun."

Sebastian didn't move. "You didn't mention this before," he said icily. "You told me Clary would be fine. You told me they both would be. You said we were playing a joke."

"You didn't actually believe me, did you?" Isabelle said. "Really, Seb—a _joke? _That's not my style, and it certainly isn't yours. You knew better."

Sebastian was holding me so tightly now that I was finding it difficult to breathe. Meanwhile I was constantly aware of Jace, locked in a silent showdown with Raphael, his eyes flicking from the gun to his enemy's face to me and repeating the cycle all over again. I could see desperation etched in his face, fear—not for himself, but for me.

"Sebastian." Isabelle's voice turned flat, frightening. "Let her go. Now." She twirled the knife in her fingers, her eyes lifting to Sebastian's face above my head.

There was another long beat of hesitation. Then I felt Sebastian's breath, hot on my ear, as he hissed, "When I let go, run. Don't look back. Just run."

"I can't," I breathed back. "Not without Simon and Jace."

"Sebastian," Isabelle snapped, her eyes wheeling back and forth between us as she unsuccessfully tried to figure out what we were whispering about.

I heard Sebastian swear very softly, and then he released me. I lunged to the side, throwing myself away from Isabelle. I wasn't sure what I planned to do. Hit Raphael over the head with another tree branch? Throw Simon over my shoulder and carry him away? That was the thing: there was nothing I _could _do. Who was I against a gun, a knife, and several lunatics?

"Don't be like that, Clary," Isabelle said, pushing her lip out in a pout. "You make things so much harder this way."

"Let them go," I said, my heart rushing in my ears, pounding like a set of drums. "If you do, then we won't tell anyone what you tried to do. We won't go to the police. I swear it."

"_Clary," _said Jace, but I didn't look at him. I stared Isabelle down, trying to communicate my sincerity with my eyes.

"I never told anyone about your party," I said. "Even when I was a suspect, I never told. And I won't tell anyone about this, either." My voice turned persuasive, pleading. "You can stop this right now, Isabelle. No one has to get hurt. You can change your mind and walk away."

Isabelle nodded slowly, her face thoughtful, and for a painful second hope soared in my chest. Then she said, "That's probably the last thing on earth I want to do right now." She pointed her knife at me. "You might be willing to keep your mouth shut, but Jace isn't the forgive-and-forget type. And besides, I've been waiting for this moment for years."

She was beyond saving, then. There was no uncertainty in her eyes, no regret, no remorse. It was like she'd had her soul sucked out, and only a shell of a human was left behind, minus the feelings and emotions that one should have.

"Clary," Jace whispered, and I turned my eyes to him as panic started to rise in my chest. I couldn't breathe. Something heavy was sitting in me, weighing me down, and I was going to suffocate if I didn't get out of here. My gaze met his, and just like the other times I'd been with him, everything else faded into gray background. His eyes still looked golden in the gray light, and they were filled with sadness and anguish and anger and fear, so many emotions that I'd never seen on him before, and it stabbed my heart to see him look so defeated.

And then his lips moved, forming one word: "_Run."_

He whirled into action, cracking his fist into Raphael's jaw. A second later he had his hand wrapped around Raphael's wrist, wrestling the gun away, and they were both on the ground, and I could hardly tell who was who, and all I knew was that there was a gun somewhere in that chaos, a gun that was most likely loaded and ready to shoot, and my head was screaming, _Jace, Jace, Jace, Jace—_

Isabelle's voice rose above everything, above the shouting and swearing and the thundering of my heartbeat. "Stop!" she shouted. No one listened. Her face turned red with rage, and she stormed toward me. I was too shocked, too horrified at what I was seeing to remember that I shouldn't let her touch me, that I shouldn't let her be near me. I should be following Jace's orders. I should run now, get the police, get help, get someone who could save us—

Isabelle's fingers closed over my arm, and then her other hand moved. At first I couldn't even process what she was doing, couldn't comprehend as I watched the tip of her dagger rip into my arm, couldn't understand the dark blood that gushed out.

And then, like a delayed reaction, the pain came like a wildfire, burning down my arm. A strangled sound burst out of me, and my other hand instinctively clutched the wound, became drenched in blood.

"If you don't want me to cut her hand off," Isabelle raged, spit flying from her lips, "then you'd better cut that the _hell _out."

There was a sharp groan, and then Jace was scrambling to his feet, disheveled but quite noticeably not-shot. I was biting my lip against the tears that were threatening to fall from my eyes; I tried not to look at the mess of my arm. It wasn't that I was necessarily squeamish around blood, but I hadn't had a lot of experience with injuries that displayed this much of it. The only other time I'd had to deal with a great deal of blood had been when Jace had been stabbed.

The look in Jace's eyes was purely murderous. Raphael dragged himself to his feet next to Jace, still clutching his gun, which miraculously hadn't gone off during their scuffle.

"Don't," said Jace in a low, dangerous voice that frankly frightened even me a little, "touch her."

"Isabelle," said Sebastian in a low voice, stepping forward, his eyes flicking over my bloody arm. "I—"

"Shut up, Sebastian," said Isabelle calmly. "Don't make me regret including you."

I saw Sebastian clench his jaw, but he didn't say anything else.

"I don't care what you do to me," Jace growled, to my horror, "but don't you dare hurt Clary, or I _will _kill you, Isabelle."

"You'd kill your own sister?" Isabelle said coyly, and then laughed. There was no humor in the sound. "You're fun to tease, Jace. Not fun to scare, but at least I can get to you through _her." _

Then she pressed the tip of her knife against my cheek. I felt the point digging into my skin, felt a drop of warm blood trace a path down my face. I gasped at the sting as cold air scraped against the small cut.

Jace started forward, but Raphael flung an arm out to stop him. "Don't think so," he purred.

"Go to hell," Jace snarled, and I wasn't sure if he was talking to Raphael, Isabelle, or both.

Jace locked eyes with me again, and I saw that same order in them, that same plea. I wanted to stay here, to protect him from whatever came next, even though I was virtually useless. The only way we had a chance was if I got out of here and got help. But would Isabelle kill Jace and Simon immediately after I was gone?

I didn't want to be the one that got away. I didn't want to be the survivor, if Simon and Jace were killed anyway. It would be my fault if I ran like a coward, if I left them to die. They would never have left me.

But I had to try. I couldn't just stand here, the damsel in distress. I had to do something.

So I threw my elbow up, jerked it into Isabelle's face. There was a crunching sound and she let out a muffled shriek, staggering away from me.

My eyes skipped over Jace, taking him in for what might be the last time, and then I turned and ran into the trees.

I heard Isabelle scream, "Don't stand there, go after her!" but I didn't stop, didn't look over my shoulder. I ran as fast as I ever had, because so many lives depended on me right now. Branches whipped across my face, widening the cut on my cheek, agonizing when they touched my hurt arm. My feet crunched in the dead leaves on the ground.

There had to be a path nearby. There had to be someone around, someone who had a cell phone, who could help us. I built up the breath in my lungs and then let it out in a scream, "Someone, please, help! _Please—"_

Something hit me from behind, throwing us both to the ground. All the air was knocked out of me; I felt like I was suffocating. Someone was lying on top of me, an impossibly heavy weight.

Then the weight rolled off. I turned on my side, gasping for air, trying not to retch. Fingers wrapped in my hair, yanked me to my knees. I let out a breathlessly shriek as agony sparked all over my scalp.

Raphael loomed in my line of sight. "Usually, I like when they run," he remarked, barely out of breath. "Makes for an exciting chase. But this time, we can't take the risk. Sorry, _querida."_

He grabbed me by my injured arm, and I cried out, my hands instinctively moving to pry his fingers away, but he held on tight, letting my blood stain his skin. He hauled me to my feet and then began to pull me roughly back in the direction I'd come from.

"Help!" I shouted, my voice lacking volume as my lungs still struggled to regain air. "Someone—"

Raphael's hand smacked me across the mouth, so hard that I tasted blood. "Shut up," he said coldly. "If you bring anyone running, I will kill you myself, no matter what Isabelle says."

"I hate you," I gasped out, just because I had to say it, I had to speak those words at least once before I never had the chance.

Raphael smiled. "That's what they all say," he said quietly, and pulled me back toward Isabelle.

* * *

_What? Another cliffhanger? I hate myself! No! _

_If I can, I will attempt to update a little earlier, because I've been a bad person with these chapters. My school year's ending in a few weeks, so there's tons of work to do, but if I find time I'll update early, okay?_

_In case you're a little confused about Isabelle's incentives, here's a short explanation: basically, she was born with a defect in her brain. She's unstable, ultra-paranoid, and she doesn't feel emotions the way normal people do. Since Jace came into the family and she feels like he's "replacing" her, her brain decided that he's trying to take her out of the picture by killing her. She wants to get to him first. I actually know someone with some of these tendencies. The different ways a human mind can work are fascinating, don't you think? _

_Hope that cleared up any confusion! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing, love you guys! _


	37. Chapter 37

_An update one day early! At least I think it is... _

* * *

Raphael folded his hand over my mouth and continued pulling me awkwardly along. I stumbled every few steps, my hand fruitlessly trying to pull his away. I tried to bite him, but that just resulted in another hit to the face.

Too soon, we were back in the clearing. My heart plummeted as Isabelle turned to greet us, her face hard and alien as she appraised me.

"That wasn't polite," she chastised. "Who said you could run away?" She tipped her head to the side. "Jeez, Raphael, what did you do to the poor girl?"

"She was being difficult," he said, releasing me and stepping back. I fell to my knees, clutching my arm; it felt like it had been lit on fire. Pain seared it like the knife was still slicing my skin.

"Clary—" Jace, who had been standing behind Sebastian, looking as if they'd been having an argument, started toward me, eyes wide with horror. His hand reached for me, and I wanted to take it. I wanted him to gather me into his arms and tell me it was going to be okay.

But he never got that far. Raphael shoved him away from me, his hands leaving a bloody print on Jace's shirt—my blood. I felt dizzy.

"Not so fast," said Raphael. His eyes slanted toward Sebastian, who was nothing but a shadow standing off to the side, his eyes watching all. "Are you going to help or not?"

"He's decided to be uncooperative," said Isabelle irritably. "Let's just get this over with. I'm tired of games. Keep your gun out," she added to Raphael. "When Jace gets mad, he gets reckless."

Raphael slid the gun out of his jacket, flicked the safety off, and pointed it at Jace again. Jace didn't even seem to notice. His eyes were locked on me, agonized, and I could see him coiled, ready to lunge toward me. I shook my head ever so slightly, telling him to stay put; if he moved now, he would be shot. Raphael wouldn't hesitate.

"Poor Clary," said Isabelle, moving toward me. She stroked my hair, and I jerked my head away from her, causing my head to spin. How much blood had I lost? I pressed my hand against my arm, trying to stop the flow, feeling sick from the redness that was everywhere, everywhere. "Don't worry, you won't feel anything in a few minutes."

Fear seeped through me like poison. She was really going to do it. She was really going to kill me. This nightmarish night was coming to a close, and I wouldn't survive the ending. And after I went, Jace would be next, or Simon. Either way, we were going to die. All of us.

Isabelle tipped my chin up, wielding her glittering knife, which was now dull with blood. She held the edge against my throat, and I could feel it radiating against my skin, a breath away from ending my life.

"Ready, Jace?" I could hear her smiling. "Better watch closely, or you might miss it."

"Clary," he choked out, and I could hear so many words in my name, so many emotions, things he hadn't gotten to say. Things that I wanted to say back. I held his eyes with mine. I wouldn't mind if he was the last thing I saw. That wouldn't be such a terrible way to go.

"_I love you," _I mouthed at him, not wanting to say it out loud, not wanting Isabelle or Raphael or Sebastian to hear it. It was for Jace, and Jace alone.

For a moment there was nothing but pain on his face, pain I wanted to take away. I wanted to close my eyes so I didn't have to see it. I wanted him to smile, as impossible as that was, because his smile was what I wanted my last image to be.

And then his face changed, darkened, and I saw the resolve in it. I opened my mouth, wanting to yell at him, to tell him _don't even think about it, _but it was too late.

He ran forward, so quickly and so suddenly that Raphael didn't have time to react. Jace knocked the gun out of his hand, and it flew through the air, hitting the ground and going off with a deafening _BANG! _Isabelle flinched away from the sound, the knife drawing just slightly away from my throat, and that was when Jace crashed into her.

They hit the ground hard, the knife twirling out of Isabelle's hand and clattering against a tree trunk, falling to the frozen ground. I doubled over onto my hands and knees, drawing in painful breaths, hardly able to believe that I was still alive, even for a few seconds more.

My eyes focused on the knife, and I started crawling toward it. Every time I put weight on my hurt arm, it was agony. I seemed to move so slowly, like a slug, so useless and powerless. Desperate frustration welled inside of me. I lunged forward, my fingertips brushing the knife, just as Raphael's boot came up and crashed into my shoulder, throwing me sideways.

"Why won't you stay down?" he spat, looming over me, no longer amused. He was glaring now, impatient, wanting this to be over. He looked on edge; I realized that he was afraid that my screaming from before had alerted someone. He was afraid that help was coming.

And if it was? I couldn't even think of that. Couldn't even let myself hope for it.

Raphael lifted his foot again, ready to smash it into my face, but suddenly there was another shadow behind him, reaching up, shoving him away from me. Off-balance, Raphael stumbled to the ground, swearing loudly in Spanish.

My vision was blurry as I gazed dazedly up at my savior. It wasn't Jace, it wasn't Simon—it was Sebastian.

He glared down at Raphael with eyes that were like twin points of black flame. "Back off, Raphael," he said, his voice still as calm as ever. He lifted Isabelle's knife, clasped tightly in his hand. "Or I'm going to have to make you."

Raphael said something in Spanish—probably not very complimentary—and glared hate at Sebastian. "I knew you were a loose cannon," he snarled. "It was a mistake to let you in on the plan."

"It was a mistake to hurt Clary," Sebastian replied. He landed a hard kick to Raphael's side, causing him to curl up in a ball, his face screwing up with pain.

My muddled brain couldn't make sense of what was happening. Why would Sebastian agree to help Isabelle, only to turn on her? I knew this wasn't his intent; he hadn't been working as an insider for us all along. He had wanted to go along with whatever Isabelle had had in store for Jace, and the fact that he was helping me now didn't redeem him. It only made him confusing.

I heard a scream, not of fear or pain, but of pure rage. My head snapped around, and I saw Isabelle pinned flat on her back, face twisted with fury, as Jace crouched over her, trying to restrain her. She was fighting back viciously, a rabid animal, refusing to be put down.

Isabelle's eyes shifted to Sebastian, and she shrieked, "Get him off me!"

Sebastian blinked at her once, and then Isabelle's knife fell from his hand, hitting the ground next to me. His eyes met mine, burning, and like always, I couldn't read what they were trying to tell me. Then, without a word, without a warning, he turned and sprinted into the trees.

I didn't know where he was going, just that he was, and he wouldn't be back for us. This was the only mercy he could give us—taking himself out of the equation. Evening out the odds, as pitiful as they already were. Sebastian only knew how to save himself.

"No more interruptions, eh?" Raphael snarled, trying to get to his feet, wincing as he pressed a hand against his stomach.

Before I knew it, my hand had closed around the handle of the knife. I held it out defensively, wishing I knew how to use it. Wishing that the world wasn't fading in and out of focus, wishing I wasn't still losing blood, wishing I could get us all out of here.

I was wishing for a lot of things. But those wishes weren't going to come true, and I knew that.

So I sat there with my shaking hands holding up a knife, not knowing what to do with it, hoping that Raphael would somehow stumble and impale himself on it.

"Raphael, the gun!" Isabelle shouted, and Raphael's attention snapped away from me. He was gone in a flash, and I lowered the knife to my lap, dropped it more like. I felt too weak to hold it up any longer.

Raphael's eyes were focused on Jace, leaving me forgotten. He darted toward the discarded gun, and like a premonition of the future, I knew what would happen next.

There is no feeling quite like the dread and horror and dismay of watching the inevitable fate of one you love. I felt the pain like it had already happened, like I had already collapsed into myself because I couldn't handle this anymore. I couldn't watch him die. I couldn't be the one to blame for it.

I couldn't do anything as Raphael reached the gun, taking it out of Jace's range, lifting it, pointing it. I couldn't even stand up, though I tried. I just kept finding myself on the ground again. I was crying with frustration and fear, and with loss. Jace looked up from where he still had Isabelle pinned down. He didn't look at Raphael; instead, he looked at me.

Raphael steadied the gun. His finger jerked toward the trigger.

And then, something amazing happened.

Or maybe it wasn't amazing. Maybe it was just horrific.

My fried brain couldn't tell the difference anymore.

Because someone threw himself at Raphael, crashing into his outstretched arms, shoving the gun away as it went off. It fired a second time as it hit the ground.

Jace rolled away automatically, even though he wouldn't have been able to avoid the bullet. Even though it hadn't gone in his direction, after all.

And there he was, the one that had just saved Jace's life. He stood wearing a slightly bemused expression, like he couldn't figure out what had just happened, what he'd just done.

Simon. My Simon. Standing with blood soaking his shirt. Standing there with the bullet wound meant for Jace.

Simon looked up at me, puzzled, and then he fell.

* * *

There are times when you don't even want to be alive. When you feel like it would just be easier to die. Like now, for me. Because seeing Simon there, bloody, crumpled, _shot, _it was something I wasn't sure I could live through.

But then your mind catches up with your heart, and you know you have to live, because there are so many reasons. Reasons you can't think of at the moment. But they're there, all the same. Even though you don't want them to be.

I half-ran, half-crawled to him. A weird sound was rising in my chest, a half sob, half wail, and I collapsed beside him, rolling him onto his back, saying something that sounded like, "_Please, please, please," _but I didn't know what I was pleading for, who I was pleading to.

I was faintly aware of Raphael lying not far away. He was rolling back and forth on the ground, clutching his leg, groaning terribly. The second shot must have hit him, I thought distantly. Good.

"No!" Isabelle was screaming furiously in the background. "Raphael, _get up!_"

Then her voice was cut off abruptly. I didn't know what happened. I didn't care.

All I cared about was Simon. His colorless face beneath my hands. The blood that covered his clothing. His eyes, closed; his glasses still lying broken somewhere on the ground. He looked young without them. Vulnerable.

"Simon," I sobbed, my voice like broken glass. My hands cupped his face, tried to shake him back to sense. "God, please, no."

I lowered my head onto his chest, my body heaving with breaths I couldn't seem to take in. _My fault, _my brain thought frantically. _This is all my fault. _

And then, beyond the rushing sound in my ears, beyond the sounds of struggle behind me, beyond my own loss, I heard something. Something incredible.

Shouting. Voices. Someone yelling, "This way!"

People. They were coming for us.

I lifted my head in time to see the first person enter the clearing. His hair was wild, windblown, his face taut with concentration. _Magnus, _I thought vaguely. _Magnus found us. _

His yellow-green eyes settled on something behind me and narrowed. "Hey!" he bellowed, leaping forward. I turned my head reflexively, saw that Jace had Isabelle pinned against a tree, one hand covering her mouth, the other at her throat.

Magnus reached them, attempted to pull Jace's hand away. "What are you doing? Are you insane?"

Isabelle jerked her head away from Jace's hand and shrieked, "He's crazy! He attacked me without warning, and he's trying to kill me-"

"She's the one," I heard Jace pant, his hand covering her mouth again. He didn't take his eyes away from Isabelle's hate-filled face. "The one that attacked me. She brought us here tonight to kill us."

Another figure crashed into view. This time, it was Alec. His eyes found Isabelle and filled with dismay. "Izzy," he choked. "Please tell me this isn't true."

Isabelle, rendered speechless thanks to Jace, didn't even look at him, and the pain in Alec's eyes could have rivaled my own.

Another heartbeat passed, and then the clearing was filled with people—officers, swarming the scene, speaking in loud voices that hurt my ears and rang in my head. I clutched Simon to me, trying to make us appear as small as possible. I didn't want them to touch us.

"We've got it from here, son," one of the officers said to Jace, putting a hand on his shoulder. Jace didn't move; he continued to stare at Isabelle with black loathing, and I knew he would kill her now if he had the choice. After everything she'd done, I couldn't blame him.

"Sir," said the officer, shaking Jace a little. "You said that this girl is the culprit of this scene, didn't you?"

Another stretch of agonizing silence. Then Jace nodded his head mechanically, up and down, and muttered, "Yes."

Alec sagged against a tree, burying his face in his hands. Magnus went to him and put his arms around him, tugging him close. Alec did nothing to push him away.

"Get that one," another officer said, and several of them surrounded Raphael. There were flashlights and stretchers, EMTs and cops. A flashlight shone right into my face, temporarily blinding me.

"We need more stretchers," a cop said into his walkie-talkie. "Lots of injuries over here."

And then there were hands trying to take Simon away from me. They tried to pull me gently away, but I just wrapped my arms more tightly around him, squeezing my eyes shut. "No," I cried. "Don't touch him. Don't take him away."

"You both need help," a gentle voice said. "Come on, sweetheart—"

"No!" I buried my head in Simon's blood-soaked shirt, wild, desperate, just needing them all to go away. Blackness crowded on the edges of my vision, but I pushed it fiercely back. I would not lose it now. I needed to stay with Simon. I needed to.

And then a wonderfully familiar scent wreathed around me, and strong hands grasped my shoulders, turned me away from Simon. Jace knelt in front of me, his face covered in drying blood and bruises, his eyes exhausted and bleak. But the way he looked at me, so worried, so tender, made some of the wildness in me dissipate.

"Jace," I whispered, my voice trembling almost to the point of incoherence.

"Clary," he murmured. "I'm here. I'm here." He pulled me to his chest, and I cried into his shoulder, my hands slipping away from Simon as the paramedics took him away.

Jace rocked me back and forth, his arms wrapped around me so tightly it hurt. But it was a good kind of hurting; I needed it, the pressure, the reassurance that we were both here. That we were both still alive. I held him just as tightly, and we clung to each other, just needing to know that the other was there.

And then there were hands pulling me away from Jace, too. "No," I all but wailed, holding onto him tightly. I couldn't see any faces, just the glaring flashlights, shadows flitting behind them. My vision was fuzzy, my head dizzy. "Jace!"

I heard him say my name. He hung onto me. Then people pulled him away from me, too, and we were separated, and I felt like a piece of me had just been torn away. I couldn't make sense of what was going on. I couldn't decide whether these people were friends or foes. Everything hurt, burned like fire, and I was terrified and lost and I just needed Jace, just needed his arms around me, just needed to feel him close to me.

They hauled me onto a stretcher, strapped me down. I tried to fight them. I called for Jace. I called for Simon and my mom and Luke. Tears mixed with the blood on my face. They tried to soothe me, but their words meant nothing to me, empty promises.

Then there was a sharp pricking sensation in my arm, and almost instantly everything faded to black, my body was dragged heavily down, and I was cut free and drifting through space.

* * *

The journey back to consciousness was a long, confusing one. It took me a while to locate all my body parts, to figure out how to move them again. When I did figure it out, it was to a chorus of sharp pains and aches, moving all up and down my body. I felt like I'd been run over by a dump truck, which had then proceeded to back over me several more times before deciding that I'd been satisfactorily flattened.

A groan escaped me, hoarse and rough. "Ouch," I muttered raspily. Then I finally moved to the part where I opened my eyes.

I was in a white room, filled with the sound of beeping machinery. The chemical smell of a hospital surrounded me. It wasn't hard to guess where I was. Duh.

"Clary?"

The sound of my mom's voice brought instant tears to my eyes. I must have been in a very fragile state, because it was usually harder than that to reduce me to crying. But there she was, standing in the doorway of the hospital room, her eyes red and swollen from doing some crying of her own. The way her face lit up when she looked at me made my tears spill over.

"Mom," I said in a wavering voice, and she crossed the room until she reached my side. She threw her arms around me, and I bit back a gasp of pain. I wanted to hug her more than I cared about my injuries.

"You're okay," she whispered, pulling back and placing her hands on either side of my face, her eyes devouring me. "Clary, I was so afraid…"

One of her tears plopped onto my cheek, and I put my hand over hers, holding it to my face.

A moment later, however, she straightened, her hands dropping away. "What did you think you were doing?" she demanded, still tearful. "You could have died, Clary. Died! I could have lost you forever. Did you think at all before running off?"

I suppressed a sigh. I should have known this was coming. I'd just hoped it wouldn't be so soon. Teary-eyed reunions can only last so long, and then the lectures begin. And then the shouting. But hopefully she'd save that last part for home.

"I didn't think," I said, resigned to the whole process. "I thought I knew…who attacked Jace. And I had to tell him. I didn't think that it might be…"

"A trap?" Surprisingly, she sounded weary. Had the fight gone out of her so soon?

I closed my eyes as my memories started trickling back in painful detail. Isabelle with her knife and her insane smile. Sebastian betraying us, then helping us, then running away. Raphael chasing me through the trees. Jace, wrestling the gun out of Raphael's hand, risking his own life for mine.

And then another memory hit me like a ton of bricks.

_Simon._

Simon appearing out of nowhere, smashing into Raphael, saving Jace's life. Simon being shot. Simon falling to the ground. My bloody hands clinging to him, my voice screaming senselessly, not wanting anyone to take him away.

I sat up fast; there were tubes in my arms that tried to pull me back down again. "Simon," I gasped frantically, my heart monitor registering the sudden pounding of my heartbeat. "Oh, no. Simon was shot. He's hurt. Where is he? What happened? Is he okay?"

More tears blurred my vision. I couldn't see anything through them. What if he was dead? I would be to blame. I'd been the one to charge stupidly into the park, to get trapped by Isabelle in the first place. It was my fault that Jace and Simon had had to come looking for me.

I felt my mom's hands take my own and squeeze, and suddenly I was terrified of her next words. I shut my eyes, causing a few tears to slip down my cheeks, not wanting to see the grief and sympathy on her face. Not wanting to hear her break the news.

"Simon is fine," she said, and my eyes snapped open. I stared at her in disbelieving, half-hopeful shock. "He's beaten up and shaken, and his shoulder is a little worse for wear. I hear he took a bullet for that boy Jace." She sighed, the rest of her anger melting away as she took in my face. "Oh, Clary. It's all right." She pulled me against her, sitting a little awkwardly on the very edge of my bed. I hugged her tight, pressing my lips together to keep from sobbing with relief.

"I want to see him," I whispered.

"Soon," she promised, pulling away and brushing my hair out of my face. "He just got out of surgery. He's resting right now."

I didn't want to see him "soon." I wanted to see him now. I had to see with my own eyes that he was alive. I wouldn't believe it until I had concrete proof.

But the feeling I got as I realized that I would eventually see him again, that we would joke and laugh and hang out just like we used to, made it extremely hard to harbor any doubt. Joy, bright and airy, blossomed inside of me. For a few horrifying minutes, I had been certain that my best friend was dead. If he had given up his life to save both Jace and me, I wouldn't have been able to live with myself. I wouldn't have been able to bear letting myself be with Jace. The guilt and the pain would have been too overwhelming.

I wanted to ask a million questions about Simon, to ask how he could be alive, just to hear his name coming out of my mom's mouth, but there were other things I needed to know. "What about Isabelle?" I forced myself to ask, fighting against the fear that her memory dredged up.

My mom's whole face darkened. "She's being taken away," she said, all her earlier anger returning. "To a place where she can't hurt anyone else. She's not right in the head, cornering people in Central Park, plotting to _kill _them. That's not healthy. That's sick. She should be locked away for a long, long time—"

"Mom." I put out my hand to stop her. I hated Isabelle for what she'd done to us. She'd almost killed us, after all. And yet…a part of me pitied her. It wasn't like she had chosen to be the way she was. It was a process she couldn't have fought against. What must it be like, trapped in your own head like that, not knowing the kind of feelings that other people felt? She had even deluded herself into thinking that Jace was some disease in her family that needed to be cleansed. She had begun to believe that he had replaced her. That he wanted to kill her. And that had terrified her more than anything.

Isabelle was a sad person, really. And now that she was gone, far away from me and the people I loved, I could afford a little understanding. Not much, but a little. I would probably never forgive her for the things she'd done, but I could sympathize. Kind of.

"What about Raphael?"

"That boy that was with her? He had to go into surgery, too. Shot in the leg," she explained, her face twisting into another scowl. "He's no better than that girl. Worse, if you ask me. She had the excuse of being crazy—what excuse does he have?"

That's my mom for you, judgmental as always. But I couldn't really blame her for ranting about the people that had tried to kill her daughter. I could cut her some slack for once.

"Is he here?" My voice shot up an octave, and the panicky feeling from the park came flooding back.

"No," she said quickly. "He was transported to another hospital. Once he's received proper medical attention, he'll be taken into custody. At least, that's what I've come to understand. He most likely won't be able to plead insanity. From what I hear, he's been up to some shady things in the past. The cops aren't going to want to let him go."

For Raphael, I felt no pity. He did what he did for money, for entertainment. There was nothing about him that I understood.

"And…" I clenched my fist around my bed sheets, a sick feeling clenching my stomach. "What about Sebastian?"

My mom must have heard the change in my voice, because her glower softened a little. "The white-haired boy? I don't know," she said. "He ran away from the scene, I guess. He told those boys—Jace's brother and the one that wears all the glitter—that you needed help, and then he took off, supposedly. No one knows where he is."

I was silent, not knowing how to feel about that. I had underestimated Sebastian. He had helped us after all, in the end; he'd gone to Alec and Magnus and told them to get help. If it weren't for Sebastian, I might be dead now. And yet, it was difficult to muster up gratitude. If he hadn't gone along with Isabelle's plan in the first place, we could have been spared a lot of pain. He had played large parts in her plotting, and I wouldn't be able to forget that.

And he was on the run now. Was he still in New York? Didn't he have a family that would be worried about him? I'd never seen or heard about his parents, didn't know if he had brothers or sisters. I didn't know anything at all about him, I realized. For all I knew, he had no one. Maybe he had nothing to lose by leaving.

Maybe I didn't want him in prison, though. Maybe I was happy he would keep his freedom. Or maybe I just didn't care where he ended up. That was my thanks to him—choosing not to hate him for what he'd done. Because I didn't think he'd want me to hate him.

"Come on," my mom said, mustering up another smile. "I know you're dying to ask about one more person."

I fidgeted, torturing myself for another moment, and then blurted, "How's Jace?"

"He's fine. Minimal damage. Certainly not as bad as the first time. He does seem to be struggling a little with the whole concept, though," she said, shaking her head. "The fact that his sister has been trying to kill him…well, his family isn't coping well with that."

My heart twisted in my chest, aching for them. I thought of Alec's devastated face as he arrived at the scene and discovered his sister at the core of all that had happened. And what about Maryse, their mother? And their father? How would they feel, knowing they had brought Isabelle home while she was still unwell, and that she had posed an immediate danger to Jace?

"I want to see him, too," I said, throwing my covers back, ready to leap out of bed.

"Hold your horses," my mom said, pressing me firmly back. "You're not getting up."

"I'm not going to just lie here," I insisted. "I have to—"

"Rest," my mom said bluntly. "You have to rest. And if you don't do so willingly, I'll call in the nurse and she'll sedate you."

I gave my mom my best betrayed look. "You wouldn't."

"Wouldn't I?" Then she sighed and pushed my hair back from my forehead again. "I almost lost you, Clary. Just humor me for a while, won't you?"

I grudgingly sank back onto my pillows, even as my toes curled with impatience and my eyes darted continuously to the door, as if Simon or Jace would suddenly appear there magically.

"Luke wants to come and say hi. I'm going to go call him and tell him you're awake. Rest," she ordered, eyeing me, and then she turned and hurried out of the room.

I looked down at the thick bandages on my arm. I wasn't that badly hurt, really. The damage was probably more psychological than anything. I would be having nightmares about that night for the rest of my life. But there were more important things than rest right now.

I reached for my IV, ready to rip it out and jump out of bed, but I was stopped by the sound of the door opening.

I quickly dropped my hand back to my side and tried to look as innocent as possible.

Someone leaned halfway into the room, like they wanted to make sure I was awake. It wasn't my mom, and it wasn't Luke. My breath caught in my throat and my fingers curled themselves into my bed sheets.

Jace's eyes met mine and his face broke into a lopsided smirk. "Sleeping Beauty awakes," he said, but beneath the joke there was a current of stark relief, and the way his golden eyes glowed made me shiver.

I propped myself up, unable to tear my eyes away. He came the rest of the way into the room, his smirk softening into a half-smile as he slowly approached my bed. I marveled at his self-control. Why did he have to take so much time? I wanted him over here _now. _I wanted to be able to touch him, to make sure that he was really here and really safe, right _now. _

But he sure did take his time. He stopped at the foot of my bed, still annoyingly out of arm's reach, and surveyed me, his arms crossed over his chest.

"You look a little the worse for wear," he remarked, his eyes searching my face, darkening. I wondered what I looked like right now. Judging by the way I felt, not good.

"You too," I answered, trying to remember how to blink. Bruises decorated his face and arms, and there was a long cut on his chin. Even beaten and battered, he was still the best thing I'd ever laid eyes on.

Silence settled over the room, if you don't count the sounds of hospital machinery. It wasn't awkward, though; we were both just taking the other in, really drinking in the realization that we'd survived through something traumatic. We had both believed that we were going to die in that clearing, and yet here we were.

Finally, when I couldn't stand it anymore, I said, "Are you going to stand there forever?"

Jace's smile reappeared, curling his lips upward. "Is that an invitation I hear?"

"As a matter of fact, it is."

"It's about time you asked," he said, and then he was around the bed, leaning over me. He still had some dirt smeared on his cheek from when he'd fought with Raphael; he smelled like grass and nighttime. I had no idea how much time had passed since Isabelle had lured us into Central Park, no idea how long I'd been unconscious, but it hadn't been long enough for Jace to go home and clean up. Idly, I wondered if he was confined to a hospital bed, too, whether he'd snuck out of his room like I'd been planning to do, or whether his injuries were minimal enough that he got to wander free.

But that wasn't important right now. The fact that Jace was right in front of me, his face so close to mine that the tips of our noses almost touched, was the crucial detail in this scene. I reached up and plucked a piece of dead leaf out of his hair, sifting it between my fingers until it crumbled into nothing.

"You're a mess," I told him, unable to totally suppress my smile.

"I've been called worse," he said, and then he leaned the rest of the way down and kissed me.

At first it was tentative, hesitant, like he was afraid he would hurt me if he tried anything else. No matter how sore I felt, I would never be too sore for a good, hearty kiss. And I wasn't having his gentleness. So I reached up, able to wrap only one arm around his neck since the other was hindered by a tube, and pulled him hard against my mouth, refusing to let him escape.

The kiss deepened, and every part of me tingled. His hands cupped my face, and even though he pressed against places that hurt, even though my lungs protested lack of air, I didn't care. I threw myself into the kiss with somewhat embarrassing gusto. But hey, I had been about ninety-nine percent sure we were going to die and that I would never get to kiss him again, so I had an excuse for my enthusiasm.

"I was so afraid," Jace whispered when we came up for air, both of us breathing hard. "I thought you were going to die."

"Please," I said, smiling at him, my lower lip brushing against his as I did so. I wouldn't allow any extra space to come between us. "It takes a lot more than that to take me down."

"Right," he said, his mouth moving to mirror my smile. "I should have known better."

"You really should have."

I pulled him to me again. Before now, I'd never really been into romance—I didn't read romance novels, or go to chick flicks. I rolled my eyes whenever I heard one of those corny love lines. Once, out of curiosity, I leafed through a romance book at the library, and every page seemed to hold something along the lines of, "his smoldering gaze seemed to melt the skin off her bones," or "she'd never felt a burning love more fiercely than she did for him." It had seemed so cliché and stupid to me, and I'd cracked up with laughter.

But now? I wasn't laughing anymore. Because I could have sworn that the feeling of his skin on mine, our lips moving together, really _was_ melting me. And I never had felt anything like this before. There would always be a part of me that doubted this, of course. That wondered how someone like Jace could ever like me that way. That couldn't quite believe this would last forever, or that we were soul mates, or whatever you want to call it. And yet the way Jace held me, the way he looked at me, it was almost enough to erase all those uncertainties and insecurities. Clearly, he saw something in me that I didn't, something that was worth caring about.

Wow. I'd become a character in a romance novel.

Suddenly, Jace broke away, a funny look on his face. "What?" I said, instantly alarmed, wondering if I'd done something wrong.

"Your heart monitor," he said, and I realized he was trying not to laugh.

I listened and was rewarded with instant mortification as I heard the loud, frantic beeping of the monitor. Okay. So maybe I shouldn't be making out when my heartbeats are being monitored. Good future tip to have.

A nurse bustled in then, probably alarmed by the change in my heart rate. The concerned look on her face turned to one of irritation when she walked in and saw Jace standing over me, his hands still holding my face, my arm still slung around his neck. All in all, not a very good pose to have caught us in.

"Excuse me," she said frostily to Jace. "You can't be in here right now."

I jerked my arm away, wondering if smoke was rising off my skin. It sure felt hot enough. Jace, however, took his time removing his hands from my face. He looked calm, relaxed, and he seemed to be thoroughly enjoying himself. He straightened and gave the nurse one of his charming smiles.

"I'm sorry," he said, sounding deceptively sincere, and I almost snorted. "I was just very concerned about Clary. I wasn't sure if she would even be alive when I came to see her. I thought I'd never see her again." I shot daggers at him with my eyes, but he ignored me. "I got carried away."

The nurse's face softened a little. "Teenagers," she muttered to herself, but at least she didn't look like she was going to call security or anything.

Jace smiled at her again, and even she couldn't withstand the force of it. "Would it be okay if I stayed? I promise I'll behave myself." He raised his hand solemnly and I rolled my eyes.

The nurse gave us both a suspicious look before relenting. "Fine. But I'll be watching." She pointed a finger at him and then left the room again.

Jace flopped into the folding chair beside my bed, grinning away to himself.

"Your acting skills are spectacular," I said sarcastically.

"I try." He leaned back, stretching his legs out in front of him, and surveyed me with the most contented look on his face.

"I don't think I've ever seen you look so…relaxed," I said, wiggling in my bed to get comfortable. "I would think you wouldn't be very, um, happy, being in a hospital again. After what happened the first time."

He shrugged. "It's over," he said. "At least, the worst of it is. No one is hunting me anymore. There will be a big fallout after what Isabelle did, but at least we're safe now." His eyes grew shadowed when he said her name.

I reached out, my fingers open. He obligingly put his hand in mine, squeezing it. "I'm sorry," I said quietly.

"There you go again. Apologizing," he said, but his smile was a little twisted, and he stared hard at the ground.

"I mean it. I'm sorry about Isabelle. How…how are your parents taking it?" I asked tentatively.

He exhaled, long and slow. "Not well," he said finally.

"And Alec?"

"Even worse."

We sat there quietly for a moment. His thumb traced absent circles in my hand, making my whole arm tingle.

When he spoke again, I expected it to be something about Isabelle or his family. But his mind had wandered to a different subject during our silence. "I remember when our positions were reversed," he said, his smile coming out more genuine this time. "I was the one in the hospital bed, and you were visiting me."

"Except we hated each other's guts back then," I said.

"True. And mostly our conversation consisted of insults and blackmail." He cast me a wry look.

I shrugged. "I needed to get my answers somehow. I feel no remorse for blackmailing you," I said calmly.

"You're evil, you know that?"

"I know."

Jace flashed me a grin that quickly faded again. A distant look came into his eyes, and he stared at the wall. I wanted to ask him what was wrong, but instead I waited quietly. He would tell me if he wanted. I'd learned that much about him.

"The one thing that doesn't really add up," he said slowly, "is Sebastian."

I squeezed his hand, maybe a little too tightly. Sebastian was a subject I wasn't sure I wanted to go into. But then, it wasn't fair for me to refuse to discuss him. Sebastian had been Jace's best friend, after all, and if Jace wanted to talk about him, then I wasn't going to stop him.

"Which part?" I said softly. "The blackmailing-your-brother part, the part where he helped Isabelle, or the part where he ended up saving us?"

"All of it." Jace shook his head, like he was trying to clear his thoughts. "I mean, why help Isabelle in the first place? What was in it for him?"

"Isabelle mentioned that he was a sucker for a pretty face," I remembered. "Maybe they were…you know."

Jace made a face. "Don't even say that. I can't live my life with that mental picture."

"He shouldn't have done it. I wish he hadn't," I said quietly. "And I wish he hadn't gone to such awful measures to keep Alec quiet."

"But all along, he was helping her," said Jace bleakly. "And I never realized it. He must have known who it was, right? But still, he told us that he didn't know. He actually teamed up with you to track down the attacker. He tried to frame Magnus. But the whole time, he knew it was Isabelle."

I hated the anger and pain in his voice. I felt a flare of anger at Sebastian, but it quickly fizzled out. I didn't know what to feel about him. It was all too confusing.

"I don't understand it, either," I said. "But he wasn't all bad. He told Alec and Magnus to call the police."

"But then he ran. And he was helping her, at first," he growled. "He changed his mind only after he realized Isabelle was really planning on killing us."

"That's got to count for something," I argued. "He didn't want us dead, at least."

"He didn't want _you _dead. He couldn't care less about me." His voice was rough, and I wanted to climb out of my bed and put my arms around him, but I didn't. I did hold on tight to his hand, though. "I should be grateful, I guess. Even though I hate the idea of Sebastian liking you, it saved us."

"Yeah," I said, staring down at my lap. "And now he's gone."

Jace didn't answer. He drew his hand away from mine, which felt cold and empty without his fingers intertwined with mine.

"Enough about Sebastian," said Jace abruptly, and when I looked up at him, the dark look had vanished from his face. He was looking at me with that look he got when he was trying to hold back a really big, triumphant grin. Warning sirens instantly started blaring in my head. "I have something else to ask you. About the park."

Why did he want to keep talking about that? I just wanted to forget that it had happened. It had been nothing short of a nightmare. But I just regarded him warily, waiting for him to continue.

"You said something that was quite…interesting," he said, lips twitching. "Well, you mouthed it, really. But that still counts."

I stared at him, confused, until it hit me. My stomach dropped through my feet, through the ground, down to the core of the earth. I had completely forgotten what I'd said to him, when we had both been on the verge of dying.

Heat rose into my face. "Oh, no." I groaned and buried my no-doubt red cheeks in my hands.

"I'm guessing you remember," he said, and I just moaned again, mortified. I heard his chair creak as he stood, and then my bed sank as he sat down on its edge. His hands took my wrists, pulling my fingers away from my face. I kept my eyes trained fiercely on the blindingly white bed sheets, unable to bring myself to look at him.

"Hey," he said. "Clary, look at me."

I didn't want to. I was afraid I would see mocking laughter in his eyes. He took my chin and lifted it, giving me no other choice. I met his eyes, feeling strangely guilty, like I'd done something wrong.

He wasn't laughing at me. He was looking at me with a small smile on his face. "I just want to be sure that I understood you right," he said, his hands still holding my wrists.

"I was scared," I said quickly, wondering if I could erase any damage that had been done. "I was freaking out, panicking. So I just said it. You know how people say things in the heat of the moment. It just sort of happened, you know?"

"Stop babbling," he said, smirking, and I shut up, scowling at him. Then he became serious again, and his eyes were too intense on my face. I looked everywhere but at him, wishing my skin would return to its normal temperature.

"You said you loved me," he said softly.

I tugged on my hands experimentally, wondering if he would release them so that I could hide behind them again, but he held fast. "Yes," I said testily, not sure how else to channel my embarrassment. "I said it."

"Well?" His eyes searched my face, like he thought he would see the answer written across my forehead. "Is it true? Or did you really just say it 'in the heat of the moment'?"

I forced myself to meet his eyes. He looked almost…hopeful. But that was absurd. Why would Jace Wayland need to be hopeful about whether or not I loved him? Surely he didn't care that much…but if he did…

If I really wanted to protect my dignity, to prevent myself from becoming that girl who proclaims her love way too early in the relationship, I could lie right now. It wouldn't be so hard. Even if he didn't believe me, I could cling to the illusion that I hadn't lost the upper hand (not that I'd ever really had it in the first place).

But what was the use in lying?

So I said, almost inaudibly, "It's true."

Jace smiled slowly, like the sun breaking over the horizon, a brilliant smile that made my heart beat faster—something my heart monitor gladly displayed for all to hear. "So you love me," he said, like he still needed to make sure, almost like he was marveling at it.

"Yeah, well," I grumbled, scowling through my blush, "I thought I might as well tell you, since we were going to die and all."

He put his hand on the back of my neck, his fingers a nice pressured warmth on my skin, and tilted his head to the side in that way of his that made my stomach flutter. "Well, Clary Fray," he announced, leaning closer to me, getting all up in my grill, "I'm glad to hear it."

I sighed. Great. I was never going to live this down. He would tease me about it for the rest of my days, assuming I didn't die of mortification first. Now I was "that girl," and he probably thought I was ridiculously clingy and obsessed now. I mean, were we even officially dating yet? I suppose one could argue that we'd been through enough that our feelings had been accelerated, but still. Too soon, man. Too soon.

Jace leaned forward suddenly and kissed me. It was a firework explosion of a kiss; I could feel himself throwing everything into it, like he wanted me to feel like I was burning up on the inside. It didn't last as long as the first had, but when he drew away, his face was flushed with color and his eyes were bright, alive.

"I think you're the most amazing person I've ever met," he said.

I just leaned my head on his shoulder, pretending I wasn't hiding, secretly relieved that he wasn't freaked out by what I'd confessed.

Because it was true. I did love him, although I probably shouldn't, for a number of reasons. First of all, I didn't want to fall in love at age seventeen. I was far more susceptible to that nasty little thing known as a broken heart at this age, when I was young and naïve and full of unreasonable passion. How well did I even know Jace, really? I did know that he was capable of cruelty, and that he had the capacity to hate without good reason. But I also knew that he could turn hate into love, and he could take off his harsh, smirking mask when he wanted to.

But even after all we'd been through, there was that annoying, dubious part of me that kept bugging me about how a guy like him rarely seemed to go for girls like me, and that we had a long, harsh past together that made this sudden mushy romance seem kind of far-fetched.

And there was the biggest point of all, of course: He hadn't said he loved me back.

My stomach clenched uncomfortably, but before I could blurt out anything stupid, before I could ask The Question that would no doubt scare him away, the nurse came back in and ordered Jace out. This time, no amount of charming smiles would tempt her into letting him stay.

Right there in front of the nurse, Jace kissed me again, and it was a soft, sweet kiss that made me shiver. "I'll see you soon," he promised, touching his forehead briefly against mine. He got up, gave me one last smirk, and strode out of the room under the glower of the nurse, who was not happy to have caught us sitting so closely again.

As the door closed behind him and the nurse hurried over to check my IV, I felt a strange sort of resolution form in my gut, in my heart.

Jace _would _say it back to me. That grin on his face made me think he was going to enjoy dangling my confession over my head for a long time, but maybe he secretly felt the same. And if he didn't now, then he would. I would make sure of it.

Jace Wayland was going to say he loved me, even if I had to tie him down and force him.

Oh. That sounded kind of wrong.

* * *

_Wellity well! Wasn't that a corny scene of romance? I can't help it. I'm a sucker for those lovey clichés. _

_Guess what? The next chapter is...wait for it...THE LAST! That's right! After 37 soon-to-be 38 chapters, this story is finally wrapping up. I'll save my Speech of Gratitude for the next chapter. It'll be long and mushy and soppy, but I'll mean every word of it. For now I'll stick with this: Thank you for staying to read through the story. I know it's been long, and I can't thank you enough!_

_Also...OVER 1,000 REVIEWS? This is my dream come true. Well, my Internet dream. Thank you so much! _


	38. Chapter 38

_Sorry this one's a little shorter than usual, but it seemed like a good place to stop._

* * *

In all the time Simon and I had been friends, I had never bothered to knock on his door. We had that relationship where we didn't care about the other's privacy—or maybe that was just me. Simon was a lot more modest, and I think he was deathly afraid of walking in on something he didn't want to see. But me? Simon could have been preforming a naked moon dance in the middle of his bedroom, and it wouldn't have fazed me.

But today felt different. The atmosphere of his apartment felt altered, like everything that had happened had changed Simon and those changes had bled into the building. His mom let me in, smiling hugely as usual, hugging me, telling me she was so glad I could stop by, that Simon had been bored out of his mind lately. He was pretty much bedridden right now, still recovering from the bullet to the shoulder.

I had barely seen Simon lately. I'd only managed to visit him once in the hospital, and at the time he'd been pretty doped up on morphine; he hadn't been allowed many visitors, and I hadn't had much time to go, either, as terrible as that sounds. But after what had happened, my mom barely let me out of her sight anymore. She had just upgraded from Paranoid Parent to Monster Mom. I felt like she was always breathing down my neck, watching my every move. It meant we argued a lot, but that wasn't really anything new.

Now Simon was home, had been for about a day, and I had been bursting to visit him. My mom had very reluctantly let me go. She had made me swear that I would text her when I got to Simon's, which I found to be rather annoying, but I obliged anyway to keep her happy.

But now that I was here, now that I was walking those few steps down the skinny hall to Simon's room, I felt strangely unsure.

I hovered outside his door, feeling awkward. After almost a minute of warring with myself, I lifted my hand and knocked.

I waited a second, fidgeting nervously, and then I heard, "Come in," from inside.

I opened the door. Simon was stretched out on his bed, nose buried in a comic book. He didn't look up as I entered. He had that crease between his eyebrows that he got when he was really concentrating on something.

"Mom?" he said absently, and I almost laughed, but I was too nervous for that.

I cleared my throat and said, "Uh, no. It's me. Clary." I felt stupid, like I'd forgotten how to act around Simon.

Simon dropped his comic book and his eyes lifted to me, stunned. "Clary? Did you just knock on my door? Are you actually respecting my privacy for once?"

"Yeah," I said, wishing I didn't feel so tense. "But don't expect it to become a habitual thing."

His face split into a grin, and instantly I felt relieved. He obviously didn't feel the awkwardness that I did. He struggled into a sitting position, wincing as he jostled his hurt shoulder.

"Hold on," I said, crossing his bedroom. I sat down at the foot of his bed. "Don't get up on my account."

"It's about time you got here. I'm bored," he complained. "Mom will barely even let me go to the bathroom by myself."

"Wow, okay. TMI," I said.

His smile faded a little and his brows drew together. "How are you doing?"

"I'm…coping," I said. It was too hard to lie to Simon and say "I'm fine." Because I wasn't, really.

"You look exhausted. Have you even been sleeping?"

"Kind of," I said, drawing invisible little patterns on his bedspread with my finger.

"It's okay. If it weren't for the prescription drugs the doctor gave me, I wouldn't be sleeping, either," he said dryly. "Some…pretty crazy stuff went down, huh?"

"Yeah." I bit the corner of my lip, bracing myself, and then went for it. "Simon, I have to apologize. I tried to apologize at the hospital, but you seemed too out of it to really get what I was saying, so I'm going to try again. It's all my fault that you got shot." My voice shook on the word. "If I hadn't been stupid and let Isabelle trick me into coming to the park, none of it would have happened. No one would have gotten hurt. It's my fault you were involved in any of this at all. And I could just kick myself for getting you hurt. You could have died—"

"Clary?" Simon put his hand on my shoulder, looked at me seriously. "Shut up."

I obeyed, snapping my mouth closed and looking at him anxiously.

"I don't blame you," he said. "Not one bit. Not for any of it. If you hadn't gone to Central Park that night, she would have found another way to get what she wanted. She would have had a plan B, then a plan C, and so forth, until you had been in that exact same situation. But it might have worked out differently. She might have killed you. We might not have escaped. Someone could have gotten hurt even worse than I was. In this scenario, at least we all made it. At least Isabelle and Raphael are someplace where they can't hurt anyone anymore. So don't even try to apologize anymore, okay? I don't blame you. At all."

"How can you not?" I said miserably. "I was stupid."

"True," he agreed. "But we all have our stupid moments. And I'm just glad it's over. So let's forget about it, okay? We don't have to ever speak of it again."

I nodded, so relieved I could have cried. I had deluded myself into thinking that Simon would be furious with me. He had every right to be. He didn't need to get involved in that whole mess, but he had because of me. He almost died for my sake.

But he was Simon, best friend extraordinaire, and I should have known he would instantly forgive me. That he wouldn't think there was anything to even forgive.

"So how's the boy toy?" Simon leaned back against his pillows, settling in comfortably.

"Don't call him that," I said, grimacing. "And he's…good." I had to suppress a goofy grin as my thoughts turned to Jace. Jeez, why did the thought of him always make me want to smile? Did love just inherently make you act sappy, or was that just me?

"Good?" Simon scoffed. "Admit it. You're in paradise, Clary."

"Okay, maybe he's a little more than good," I allowed. "But we don't have to talk about Jace, Simon."

"Why not? Does he make you uncomfortable?" he asked innocently, and it was all I could do not to burst into laughter at a joke he wouldn't get.

"No. But I thought he might make _you _uncomfortable." My voice softened. "After all, the bullet that hit you was meant for him."

"That doesn't make me uncomfortable. That just means he's forever in my debt," said Simon with a devilish grin. "I could make him my servant if I wanted. That's how much he owes me."

"Why did you do it, Simon?" I asked, the question popping out without my permission. "Why would you take a bullet for Jace? Last I knew, you didn't even like him."

"I don't, really," Simon admitted, frowning a little. "I didn't do it for him. I did it for you."

I looked at him, stunned.

"If Jace had gotten hurt again…or even killed…you would have been devastated, Clary. Destroyed. And I couldn't watch you go through that. That Raphael guy has deadly aim. Jace probably would have died, and I know how you feel about him. So I saved him." And then he shrugged, like it was no big deal.

I felt like I was about to burst into tears. "Simon," I said, voice trembling. "You're the best person I've ever known."

He smiled. "I know."

I scooted toward him and wrapped my arms around his neck, holding on tight. "Thank you," I said into his shoulder. "Thank you so much."

He patted me on the back. "Any time, Clary," he said softly. "I know you would do the same for me."

"In a heartbeat," I whispered.

"And don't go thinking this is _all _about you. I wouldn't sit by and let someone get shot, no matter how annoying and arrogant they are." His laughter blew against my ear.

"Well, I'm grateful," I said, smiling in response.

"Speaking of undying love." Simon pulled back, and he was smiling again. "I might have met someone."

I stared at him. "Met someone?"

"As in…a girl," he said.

I continued to look at him.

"As in…a potential girl_friend,"_ he clarified, beginning to look exasperated.

"Wait. You have a girlfriend?" I said, dumbfounded.

"Maybe. I mean, we just met," he said, his cheeks beginning to turn red. "Her name is Maia. We met at the hospital. Her mom is a nurse, so she helps out with the patients sometimes. She brought me lunch every day. She's really nice and funny and cool and…she seems to like me." He shrugged, looking so adorably embarrassed.

"Oh my gosh!" I squealed. "I'm so proud of you!" I threw my arms around him again, only to pull back quickly as he hissed in pain. "Sorry. Sorry!"

"It's okay. At least you're showing the proper enthusiasm," he said wryly, unable to stop himself from grinning.

"Really, Simon. I'm happy for you," I said, smiling warmly at him. "I knew you were going to find true love."

"I'd say that's jumping the gun, but thanks," he said, making a face at my exaggeration.

"So what are you reading?" I picked up his comic book, and his face instantly became alive, as it always did when he talked about his fandoms.

We spent the rest of the day together. Sometimes we talked about his video games, sometimes we talked about Maia or even Jace, though that still made me uncomfortable. We never talked about that night, though, never mentioned Isabelle or Sebastian. We pretended like it had never happened, and like life was just as it had been before, and for a while it was easy to imagine that that was true.

* * *

"Hey, Gingerbread."

How can it be possible for the mere sound of someone's voice to give you butterflies? And turn your knees to Jell-O? And make you feel like the sun just got about ten times brighter, the air ten times fresher, the day twenty times better?

I guess that's love for you. It has its ups and downs. In my opinion, the ups far outnumber the downs, but then, I wasn't terribly experienced yet.

I turned around to see Jace striding down the school hallway toward me. He was already wearing his heavy coat, the same coat he had once borrowed to me. When he caught my eye, he smiled, a smile that seriously lit up the entire building.

"Hey, Golden Globe," I answered as he reached my side and wrapped an arm around my waist.

He raised an eyebrow at me. "'Golden Globe'?"

"No good?"

"Keep trying."

I scowled and he laughed, playfully tugging on a piece of my hair. I'd been trying out nicknames for days, trying to find one that stuck. He had an array of redhead-related jokes at his disposal, not to mention an annoyingly witty sense of humor. I had a decidedly smaller list to choose from. Blonde jokes worked, but most of them were overused and boring. But mark my words, I would find one someday, and then he'd be sorry.

"Where's Alec?" I asked. Ever since…that night…Jace and Alec had become a lot closer. Alec had once shadowed Isabelle's every step through the halls of the school, and after she had been taken away, he had seemed so lost. Jace, who normally ran with a different crowd, had swooped in and taken Alec under his wing. After all, he seemed a little lost himself, without Sebastian by his side. They helped each other out in their loss.

I felt for Alec, I really did, but sometimes it was a little irritating when he hung around, when he didn't get the subtle hints that we wanted some privacy.

"He's with Magnus," said Jace, and the look he gave me was pure mischief.

"Magnus?" My eyebrows shot up. I never saw them together, although sometimes I would catch Magnus watching Alec from afar, always with that slightly frustrated look on his face. Alec seemed to be avoiding him, though. Now that Sebastian was no longer around to blackmail him, Alec seemed content to let his secret stay buried. I felt terrible for Magnus, but it really wasn't my business.

"He finally agreed to talk," Jace said, twining his fingers with mine. We had grown accustomed to the stares we got, and most of the student body had become accustomed to us. There were still a few that seemed to struggle with the concept of our relationship, most of them being Jace's friends and Aline's pack. Aline especially gave me looks that felt like they could melt the skin off my face.

"That's good," I said, and I meant it, but my mind was on something else. "So…I guess Alec won't be joining us today."

His hand tightened around mine. "Nope."

"So." I met his eyes, which shone. "What should we do, Brad?"

"Brad?" he repeated, frowning.

"Like, Brad Pitt. What?" I said defensively as Jace roared with laughter. "He's blonde!"

"You're improving," he told me, full-out grinning. I could see the little chip in his tooth, and it was all I could do not to lean forward and kiss him right there in the middle of the hall.

Then he leaned close, his lips just barely brushing the top of my ear, and said, "But I can think of a few things we could do."

A thrill went through me, and my cheeks started to warm. No matter how much I was around him, I would never stop blushing at just about everything he said. I could foresee that much.

He took my hand and tugged me toward the main doors. "Where are we going?" I asked.

"It's a surprise," he said, still grinning away.

I rarely knew where we were going after school. Jace loved to surprise me. He said the little look of surprised delight on my face when we showed up at our destination was what got him out of bed in the morning. He was just teasing, of course, but it still made the butterflies living in my stomach flutter their wings.

* * *

"What are we doing here?" My voice came out a little sharper than I'd intended.

"Come on." He tugged me forward, holding firmly to my hand like he was afraid I was going to bolt. And honestly, I was seriously contemplating that option.

We'd taken a taxi from the school. Jace had gone to great measures to keep our destination a secret, even going as far as whispering it into the taxi driver's ear, who looked confused and annoyed but drove us there all the same.

And now we were standing outside Central Park. The place where IT had happened. The place we hadn't gone to since that night.

"Jace, I don't think this is a good idea." I pulled on his arm, tried to get him to head back toward the taxi.

"Relax, Clary." He treacherously turned his charming little smile on me. "Nothing bad will happen."

"We could have flashbacks," I argued. "We could go into shock, or something."

He rolled his eyes. "Don't be a chicken." He smirked at me. "Are you really that scared of a park?"

I glared at him. "You know that's not my problem."

He sobered, brushing his thumb lightly against my cheek. "The thing is," he said slowly, "yes, something bad happened here. Something that we aren't going to forget, ever. But you know what? We had good memories here, too. And I'm not willing to let those memories get overshadowed by the bad things."

"I'd say the bad things outweigh the good in this instance, Jace," I said edgily.

"Then I'm going to have to remind you what the good things are like," he said. Then he put his arm around my waist, holding me prisoner, and all but dragged me into the park.

I don't know what I expected when we walked in. A murderer to jump out of nowhere and attack us? That certainly didn't happen. It was just a normal winter day, the sky blanketed by gray clouds. The trees were completely leafless now, reaching thin fingers in all directions.

I also wasn't hit with a barrage of flashbacks like I'd expected. But then, this wasn't the exact spot where it had happened. I hoped Jace wasn't planning on bringing us _there. _

It didn't take me long to figure out where he was headed. I had sort of guessed it when we'd come to a stop outside the park. There were only a few good memories I had in this park that involved Jace.

The gazebo loomed into view, and now I did have flashbacks, good ones—sitting underneath it with him in the rain. He had listened to me as I talked about my father. He had shown sensitivity for the first time since I'd known him. And he had looked so peaceful, staring into the rain, like for the first time in weeks he had let himself relax. I thought of how he had given me his coat, without a thought.

Jace hopped up the stairs, releasing my hand and pacing into the middle of the gazebo. He spun and faced me, his hands in the pockets of his coat. Then he smirked, all proud of himself.

"Okay," I said, doing my best to sound unconcerned. "It's a gazebo."

"Don't pretend like you don't remember."

"I remember," I said, walking over to the railing I had leaned against the last time we were here. I stared out at the gray day, keeping my back to him so he wouldn't see my face. "You told me to meet you here…I mean, Isabelle told me to meet you here."

Jace was quiet behind me, and I cursed myself for ruining today. He'd been excited to bring me here, and I was squashing his enthusiasm. We didn't say Isabelle's name much; it brought back too many bad memories.

I felt Jace behind me more than I heard him approach. "Clary?" he said, a question in his voice.

I took a deep breath, composed myself, and then turned to face him. "But I remember that day," I said softly, giving him a small smile. "When we ran into each other here. You said it was fate."

"It was," he said, responding to my smile with one of his own. "Fate wanted us together."

"Uh-huh," I said dubiously, though the idea gave me a thrill.

"Look," he said suddenly, stepping up to the railing beside me, our arms touching. "It's snowing."

I followed his gaze, and sure enough little snowflakes were drifting down from the sky. It didn't snow a lot here, something that was strange for me after living most of my life in Colorado, and seeing the tiny flakes float down was like a little piece of home. They would most likely turn to rain soon, but for now they looked beautiful.

"I like the snow," said Jace distractedly. "It muffles everything. Makes it quieter. I used to pretend that I was the only person in the world when it snowed. It made me feel…I don't know, invincible. Untouchable."

I couldn't help glancing at him, wanting to watch his face as he watched the snow, in that same rapt way he'd looked at the rain.

"Now I don't want to pretend to be alone. At least, not completely." He reached out and took my hand. His fingers were warm. "I want to pretend that it's just you and me, and the rest of the world doesn't exist."

I felt like my heart had stopped. How did he come up with this stuff? Who would have thought that there was a poet inside Jace Wayland?

"Okay," I said softly. "It's just you and me. What are you going to do now?"

"Now," he said, turning his head and giving me a smile that stopped the spinning of the entire world, "I kiss you."

So he did.

* * *

_FIN. Heh, I always wanted to say that. _

_Wow, I can't believe it's finally finished! Took long enough, huh? Thank you SO much for sticking with me till the end! Thank you for your encouraging and kind words, and thank you for your enthusiasm. What's a story without someone to read it?_

_I'll do my best to write a sequel. I don't really have any ideas yet, but if I get another story posted, I'll put a notice on this fic so you'll know, just in case you want to check it out. _

_In conclusion, THANK YOU! I could never say that enough. You guys are so awesome, and I hope I get to write for you again soon! _

_Over and out, ~I'm a Muppet of a girl _


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